


The Dark is Light Enough

by harborshore



Category: The Song of the Lioness - Tamora Pierce, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fix-It, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-27
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-01-14 00:31:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1245973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harborshore/pseuds/harborshore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’re young,” Alex says bluntly. “Younger than me, even, and no one thought me any good until I’d proven myself in battle. And those of us who study the sword have many more opportunities to prove ourselves publicly--you lot are all shut away in your cloister, how would anyone even know?”</p>
<p>“It’s not like they thought anything of me there either until the first Trials,” Thom says, a touch bitter. “I am so tired of proving myself.”</p>
<p>“I would be too,” Alex says. “I’d look for something decisive. That’s not to say you have to do what Delia says, of course.”</p>
<p>“You don’t seem to doubt me,” Thom says, something odd in his voice. He knocks his shoulder against Alex’s, carefully.</p>
<p>Alex means to use Thom of Trebond to further his own plans. It doesn't turn out that way at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [goshemily](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goshemily/gifts).



> To my most dear Emily because the bar, and for so many other reasons. This story would not exist without you; so much good in my life would not exist without you. The title belongs to Christopher Fry, someone else you gave me. 
> 
> Thanks also to Tora for betaing a canon she doesn’t know at all just because I asked, and for falling in love with these boys while reading.

Thom of Trebond is not what Alex was expecting. 

To begin with, he’s nothing like Alanna. Oh, they look somewhat alike, superficially, and Alex can see where they would have been able to pull the switch they did as children, but Thom wears silk and moves like a nobleman who spent time at court but never had weapons training. Alex can’t really imagine Alanna moving like she never learned the sword. It’s a strange sight. 

“Trebond,” he says, bowing slightly.

“Tirragen,” Thom says, mouth quirking. “My sister told me about you.”

Alex smirks. “Only good things, I hope.” Probably not, but it doesn’t hurt to try.

“She said you were--how did she put it?--a passable swordsman.”

Alex bristles. “Did she tell you I beat her--” He stops himself when Thom raises an eyebrow. Squabbling about Alanna is not the objective here. 

Thom grins. “No, she didn’t tell me that. She did say you were good, though, very good.”

“Ah,” Alex shakes his head. “She’s surely better than I am, by now.” 

Thom demurs, but his smile tells Alex that flattering his sister was the right approach.

Alex tilts his head, making sure to keep a friendly look on his face. “What about you, then? Why haven’t we seen you at court before?” 

“I was learning magic from the Mithran priests,” Thom says, and adds casually, “I passed the exams for Mastery a while back.”

He’s very young for a Master, but then Alex already knew that. He knows a lot more about Thom than Thom knows about him. Or he ought to. “How so early? Was it your pretty face?”

“You’ve caught me,” Thom says drily. “I fluttered my eyelashes and they fell all over themselves to award me the robe.”

“I’ve always thought Mithran priests seemed a bit susceptible to pretty boys,” Alex says, suppressing a smile. So the other Trebond can be entertaining, then. 

Good. That means this won’t be a bore.

“Well, you know,” Thom says, head tilted. “The way I learned three Words of Power in a week once helped, too.” 

“I imagine it would,” Alex says blandly. He’s not quite sure what learning Words of Power entails, but the set of Thom’s jaw suggests it’s something important and difficult, which in its turn suggests that Thom of Trebond is exactly who Alex needs. Just like Delia said that Roger claimed before he died. He makes a mental note to look up what a Word of Power is. He has some of Roger’s books, it ought to be in there.

Then Thom is called away to speak to the Lord Provost, who is making a very rare appearance at court. He looks over his shoulder at Alex as he walks off, nodding once. Alex smiles into his wine glass. This has gotten off to an awfully promising start.

\--

Now if only his fellow conspirators were getting somewhere as well. But that might be too much to ask. It would be better, Alex reflects, or at any rate easier, to be part of this conspiracy to overthrow the king if the majority of people in it weren’t so _stupid_. 

He stopped participating in this meeting some twenty minutes ago, when Ralon of Malven, apologies, _Claw_ (who let him pick his own alias?) began expounding on the evils of Prince Jonathan and how he was going to get revenge for the way he’d been treated by him and that little red-headed tart.

_You’re not worthy of the dirt on Alanna’s boots_ , Alex thinks absently. He’s come to terms with the fact that he has quite a bit of respect for the girl who fooled them all and also became one of the best swordsmen in the kingdom through sheer bloody-mindedness. Doesn’t mean he wouldn’t like to find out if he could beat her, but still. He wishes his co-conspirators had even a twelfth of her intelligence between them, or Raoul’s, or Jonathan’s, for that matter. And he misses Roger.

Technically this is for Roger. But since Roger isn’t here, there’s no one to corral the idiots and make this a functional plot. Alex could, but they wouldn’t listen to him.

He sighs as Delia of Eldorne takes over, detailing her conquests at court. Conquests that really aren’t bringing them any closer to the goal. See, none of the minor lordlings battling for her favor have any armed forces to speak of or even the necessary initiative or funding to acquire men or power.

“Yes, yes,” he says, breaking off the flow of words. “And? I realize we’re playing a long game here, but we might need to hurry it up a bit if we’re going to accomplish what we want.”

Delia frowns at him. “Let’s hear you report, then,” she says. “What are you doing to bring our Duke back to life?”

Alex bites down on the snarl that threatens to arise at her possessive tone. He knows what she thinks she has with Roger, but he remembers Roger’s hand on his shoulder while they watched Delia turn about the room on the arm of one of the young idiots at court.

“She’s useful,” he said, voice low in Alex’s ear. “She’s very useful, and we need her. For now.” His hand tightened on Alex at that, and later he pulled them away so that Alex could demonstrate just how much he was Roger’s, wholly and entirely. He didn’t worry about Delia’s place in Roger’s affection after that.

But Alex still needs her, because Roger went and got himself killed. So he doesn’t snap, but smiles in the way Prince Jonathan once likened to a drawn blade.

“I’m cultivating Trebond,” he says. “I’ve established a connection and I’ll keep working on him.” 

“Well, work faster,” Delia says, sounding a bit mollified. “You know we’re on a time limit.”

Alex does know that, even if he still doesn’t understand why resurrection spells has to happen at a certain time of the year. “You just do your part,” he says. “I’ll do mine.”

“Laying down for our lord,” Claw says, sneering.

Delia raises an eyebrow at that, and rightly so, considering what her work for the conspiracy entails. “Yes?” she says. “If I or Alex looked like you and the Rogue didn’t know who we were, we’d be doing your job instead, and probably better than you are. But no one would expect you to do the laying.”

“Oh, but those are fetching scars,” Alex says, pretending to consider it. He can’t pretend to be fond of Delia, but he likes the way she plays. 

“It’s not the scars,” Delia says. “The scars could be dashing, you see. He could even pull off the missing eye, if necessary. But his general awful demeanor and the _way_ he acquired those wounds--“ 

Alex grins. “Ah, yes, I see. His personality does leave a lot to be desired.” The years of absence from court did not improve Claw, formerly Ralon of Malven. Rather, it entrenched his most terrible qualities, the ones Alanna had taken offense at to begin with. Alex doesn’t think much of a man who would try to take village girls by force. 

Claw scowls at them both but shuts up. He runs to pattern: he goes after those who are weaker than him and bows before those of more power and wit. Never challenges when he’s not sure if he has the winning hand. 

It’s unfortunate that they need him to win a metaphorical card game against someone who might be the most skilled player in Tortall, then, isn’t it?

“Tell us more about the Court of the Rogue,” Alex says. “Are you any closer to where we need you to be?”

“Not yet,” Claw says. “But there have been developments.” He outlines his achievements, no doubt exaggerating his new position in the Court, but at least things are happening.

They need Trebond, though. There’s no bringing Roger back without a sorcerer, and they must have Roger back. And getting Thom involved will fall on Alex. 

\--

 

He makes a point of seeking Thom out regularly after that, ostensibly because court festivities bore him (which is true) and Thom is marginally less dull than the rest of the crowd (also true). It makes him ache to take it this slow, but he doesn’t dare overplay his hand. There is only one way to accomplish what he wants, and Thom is it. 

Alex can hear Roger’s low laugh as he smiles and cajoles and prods Thom into trusting him. Roger would be proud, he knows it. One of the first lessons Alex learned as his squire was to hide what he was feeling and to pretend just enough interest in someone to get them eating out of the palm of your hand. Thom may represent a larger challenge than most; Alex is well aware of how bright Alanna’s twin is, but he can’t fail. He can’t. 

Every day without Roger is an empty one, a bleak one, and he wakes to every new morning in terror of how lost he feels without Roger setting his path for him. If he could just have Roger back, safe and hale, the country could go to hell and Alex would care very little about who held the throne. But Roger wants the throne and Alex will get it for him, along with his life.

\--

One warm August night, Alex escapes from the pressing throng of a party and sneaks out onto a balcony. He thought he saw Thom go out here earlier, and sure enough, here he is, staring out into the dark. Perhaps he found the party a little close too.

Or perhaps he is here because Delia just spent a very public fifteen minutes casting aspersions on his magical abilities, just like she and Alex planned out between them. Alex smirks.

“Hiding, Trebond?”

Thom jerks, and then relaxes when he sees who it is. “It got a bit stifling in there,” he says.

“Yes,” Alex says blandly. “I suppose it would, after all that.”

“I don’t know what you’re referring to,” Thom says, stiffening again. 

“Oh, nothing,” Alex says, standing next to Thom at the railing. “She’s just a girl. She did know the late Duke of Conté rather well, and her family keeps good records of--I can never remember his name, that ancient sorcerer she was talking about who everyone says is the greatest sorcerer to ever have lived, but I take it he was some sort of distant ancestor of Delia’s. But I’m sure she doesn’t know what she’s talking about.” 

Thom huffs. “She’s hardly a magic practitioner,” he says, glancing at Alex. They’re standing fairly close together. Trebonds apparently all look otherwordly at night; Alex thinks it’s the strangeness of seeing them in a setting that dims the brightness of their hair, as moonlight does. Alanna used to look just like this on nightly outings when they were squires.

“Your hair,” Alex says, then shakes his head at himself and tries to pick up the conversational thread. He doesn’t usually fall into saying what he’s thinking out loud. “I meant, no, of course she isn’t.”

“My hair?” Thom looks amused. “What about it?” 

“It’s very odd-looking in the moonlight,” Alex says, because apparently he’s stuck explaining himself now. “I don’t know how to look at you without that flaming bush on your head.”

“Watch whose hair you’re calling a bush,” Thom says, mouth quirking. He takes one hand off the railing and curls it, and abruptly there’s an image in the air.

Alex squints. “I look nothing like that,” he says, but he can’t help laughing. Thom has given him a tall rose bush for hair, just like the ones below them in the garden. 

“I don’t know, you were the one talking about plants on my head, I only paid back in kind.” Thom is grinning, and Alex smiles back at him. 

_He’s quite good,_ he thinks.  
\-- 

Two weeks later and autumn has arrived at last, all reddening leaves and a chill in the air.

“You’re making a habit out of this,” Thom says when Alex walks out into the garden to join him. 

“You match the leaves, how quaint,” Alex says instead of answering, because yes, indeed, he _is_ making a habit out of this, but he’d prefer it if Thom didn’t notice.

Thom snorts. “Quips about my hair? Again? Tiragen, don’t get boring.”

“Ah, but it’s such a tempting target,” Alex says, reaching out and ruffling it. Something flashes in Thom’s eyes then, too quick for Alex to identify, before he pushes Alex’s hand away. 

“Leave my hair alone,” he says, but his voice is warm. Alex takes that as an invitation to sit down next to him.

“So tell me what’s afoot in the land of the Gifted,” he says airily. He’s started to push Thom lately, in more ways than one, but he has to be so very careful about it. Sitting a little too close, though, isn’t too much. Probably.

Thom glances at him. “You know we don’t exactly have our own country, right?”

“Otherwordly realms and whatnot, surely there must be some,” Alex says. “Don’t disappoint me, Trebond.”

Thom looks at him oddly. “Have you been talking to Delia?” he says.

Alex hopes he’s maintaining an adequately blank face. “No, how so?”

“She was going on about bringing Roger back from the Land of the Dead--how he’d be the perfect candidate because of his Gift, and really didn’t I want to show to the world that I was greater than any sorcerer had ever been, didn’t I just?” He bites off the last word, and Alex can see he’s nowhere near as calm as he seemed when Alex first entered the garden. 

He’d like to push Delia into the nearest decorative fountain for pushing Thom like this. She’s meant to be the stick and Alex the carrot, yes, but they cannot spook him.

“I don’t really find her conversation that scintillating,” he says, and is rewarded with a quick grin, even if Thom’s still tense. “She does have a point, I suppose.”

“What would that be?” Thom says, looking at Alex intently.

“You’re young,” Alex says bluntly. “Younger than me, even, and no one thought me any good until I’d proven myself in battle. And those of us who study the sword have many more opportunities to prove ourselves publicly--you lot are all shut away in your cloister, how would anyone even know?”

“It’s not like they thought anything of me there either until the first Trials,” Thom says, a touch bitter. “I am so tired of proving myself.”

“I would be too,” Alex says. “I’d look for something decisive. That’s not to say you have to do what Delia says, of course.”

“You don’t seem to doubt me,” Thom says, something odd in his voice. He knocks his shoulder against Alex’s, carefully.

“Ah, but I’m more used to magic than the rest,” Alex says, nudging Thom right back, ignoring the wretched emotion rising in his throat. _Roger is dead, and if you don’t keep it together, he’ll stay dead._

“That’s right, you were the Duke’s squire, weren’t you?” Thom looks at him searchingly.

“I was,” Alex says shortly.

“Would you want him to come back, if you had the choice?” 

Alex can’t breathe. _Yes._ But he has to be careful. “I would have liked him to have the chance to prove himself,” he says. “He did a lot of good for the realm, I disliked that sort of quick end.”

“He did a lot of bad for the realm, too,” Thom says quietly. 

“How much of that--” Alex stops to think. Best to tread softly, here. “I’m not saying your sister was lying. But it did all go very fast and there was very little substantial proof, wasn’t there, when they went through his workrooms after his death?” Next-to-nothing, in fact, and Alex had to stand there and watch while Roger was practically executed on someone’s word because of some dolls. Anyone could have made those dolls. Roger didn’t need to resort to anything like that to gain power.

“He had me watched,” Thom says, and oh, Alex hadn’t known that. But it isn’t all that surprising, given Alanna’s rather obvious grudge. Stands to reason Roger would keep an eye on her brother as well, just like he kept an eye on other people who were working against him. 

Alex decides not to argue the point. He can tell by the set of Thom’s shoulders that it wouldn’t be productive. “Maybe,” he says. “I can’t be sure of anything, you understand, because trial-by-combat, you know, it’s not exactly a fair form of trial. I could be accused of anything and best nearly anyone and that wouldn’t be fair, would it? The gods are supposed to intervene, but do they, always?” Of course Alanna beat Roger. She’s better than anyone they have except Alex. 

Thom doesn’t answer, but he’s watching Alex’s face closely. He looks troubled. Good. Now for the leave-taking.

“Apologies. These are heavy subjects for a warm autumn night. I should go,” Alex says, and moves to get up. Thom touches his wrist as he rises.

“Stay a while?” he says. 

Alex blinks, surprised. “For what?” he says.

Thom’s face is still troubled, but he’s making an obvious effort at levity. “I could use the company, and I’ve come to appreciate yours.” There’s something about the way he still hasn’t moved his hand back from Alex’s wrist that Alex thinks he might recognize. He’s been trying to push Thom that way, after all.

“And here I was thinking we had a nice bit of mutual needling and dislike going,” he says, but he’s grinning, so Thom should know it’s a joke.

“How do you know that’s not what I mean when I say I appreciate your company?” Thom asks. He still hasn’t let go of Alex’s wrist, which makes Alex fairly certain that he knows what is going on. But he’s not sure how to respond. Should he pursue this now? Should he--

The decision is taken out of his hands by Thom withdrawing his hand and looking tense again. “Apologies, of course you’re free to go if you wish.” 

Alex can’t leave now, that would be entirely unproductive, so he sits back down, a little closer than before.

“I don’t wish,” he says, and he knows his voice is warm. “Besides, if I go back in there you know I’ll be cornered by some lout who thinks challenging the rumored best swordsman of Tortall is a good plan. Being known for what you can do isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, you know.”

“I think people would stay away if they knew what I could do,” Thom says, mouth twisting. “But let’s talk about something else, shall we?”

“Fair enough,” Alex says. “What shall we discuss, then? The latest conquest of Lady S.?”

Thom interrupts him, laughing. “Anything but that,” he says. “I just--do you like it here, at court?”

Alex used to like it here. Alex used to have someone to look for every time he entered a room. He swallows. “Sometimes,” he says. “It’s better than at the estate.”

“Oh, I know,” Thom says. “I have to go back to approve the books sometimes and every time I do, I just. I feel like I’ll get stuck.”

Alex nods. “I may have to go back eventually,” he says. “When my father dies. I should be back there right now, learning, but all I ever wanted was to become a knight.”

“You’re friendly with the heir to the throne,” Thom says. “Surely you could ask him to ask his father to appoint someone to take care of the estates for you after your father goes?”

Alex has never thought of that. “I thought.” He swallows. Jonathan is not very likely to do anything for him, these days. He certainly wouldn’t offer Alex a position. “It _is_ my responsibility.”

“Yes,” Thom says. “But I would--” He pauses, a strange smile passing over his face. “I would miss you, if you left.”

“My scintillating conversation?” Alex says, throat suddenly tight.

“Among other things.” Thom reaches out as if to touch his cheek, then yanks his hand back. 

Impulsively, before he can think further than _this will be useful_ and _just like we planned_ , Alex leans in and kisses him.

Thom makes a muffled sound of surprise into his mouth but he doesn’t pull away, he doesn’t pull away.

Instead Alex draws back, smiling slyly at Thom. “How’s that for scintillating?” he says.

Thom laughs, sharp. “Not bad,” he says, bringing his hand up again and this time he does touch Alex, fingers curving around his neck. Alex almost shivers because it’s been a very long time and Thom doesn’t kiss like Roger did, not at all, but he breathes in deep and keeps his reaction from showing. He hopes.

Dipping his head, he trails a hand along Thom’s cheek. “We could try it again, see if I can get you to say something more positive than ‘not bad’.” 

Thom raises an eyebrow. “That sounds like a challenge,” he says.

_Everything we do is a challenge_ , Alex wants to say, but instead he leans in again.

\--

He has to talk himself into it twice before he manages to go visit Thom’s rooms. He must, if he wishes to see Thom somewhere other than a party. But he is still reluctant, remembering the hand on his neck and the way he nearly couldn’t keep from shivering. He doesn’t like the idea of not being in control when he’s doing something so vitally important.

He knocks, eventually. Thom opens after a good long while, when Alex has almost convinced himself he must be out.

“Alex?” he says. He looks pleased, and also a bit lost, as if he isn’t sure how to proceed.

“I thought I’d come see how the other half lives,” Alex says, and he’s not certain what he means, but Thom opens the door for him.

The other half lives in a mess, evidently. There are books everywhere, and Alex can see through the door to the other room that Thom’s bed isn’t made.

Thom looks a little embarrassed. “The maids don’t like magic,” he says.

“Ah,” Alex says. Diplomatically. 

“Oh, shut it,” Thom says, mouth quirking. “Just because you--do you inspire loyalty in your servants, or something?”

“Not as such, no,” Alex says, thinking of how his manservant James tends to huff at the wear-and-tear of his clothes, the same way he did when Alex was little and tore his breeches roughhousing. “I don’t think James even realizes I grew up, to be honest.”

Thom laughs, a surprisingly open sound. It makes his whole face light up. “Oh yes. My sister took Coram with her, or else I would no doubt be scolded for forgetting to eat and ordered into bed at a decent hour. He used to be frightened of magic, but the years with my sister have cured him of that alright.”

“That’s right, Alanna is Gifted as well,” Alex says. His voice must give something away, because Thom looks at him oddly.

“She is, yes, though she always wanted to be a knight.”

Alex frowns “Was it her idea or yours to switch places?” 

Thom snorts. “Guess.”

Of course. “It was hers, wasn’t it?” How did Alanna even come up with that idea, in a world where she was supposed to smile and behave and get married? It’s not easy to even think about forbidden things, let alone do them. Alex knows.

“Oh yes. I went along with it because it was a better option for me as well. I really wouldn’t have made a good knight. But it was very much her plan.” Thom sounds self-deprecating, but he made something of himself that worked for him, didn’t he?

“You learned to use what you had,” Alex says. It’s high praise, coming from him.

Thom must hear it in his voice, because he looks pleased. “Thank you, I appreciate it.”

Alex shrugs. It’s true. “People don’t compliment you a lot, do they?”

Thom’s mouth twists. “Hardly. They don’t think I’m old enough to be the kind of sorcerer I’m supposed to be. Which is useful for my current project, but I fear it’s going to grow tedious in the long run.”

Presumably he’s referring to his current work protecting the prince. It was never something stated outright, but Alex knows Alanna wouldn’t have left if she weren’t sure Jonathan would be safe.

“So are you thinking of ways to prove yourself, when the right time comes?”

“Ha,” Thom says. “That kind of manifestation--I think I ought to hope it doesn’t come to that.”

Thom must mean battles, but he doesn’t sound entirely honest about not wanting it to happen. Maybe-- “True enough. I’m supposed to hope I don’t have to use my training either.” 

“Right, exactly,” Thom says ruefully. “It would be nice if I could make my reputation in a way that didn’t involve staving off a deadly threat to the kingdom but served as a deterrent for future threats nonetheless. It would also be sort of nice to be challenged more than I am right now.”

Oh, and that’s an opening, isn’t it? Alex bites down on his cheek hard in order to keep his eagerness from showing on his face. “I don’t know what that would be,” he says. “But surely there must be something big you could do, to show people?”

“There might be,” Thom says. “There are some projects...” he trails off. “Was that why you came here today?” he asks. “To ask me what sort of terrible things I can do?”

“No,” Alex says automatically, even though it certainly was. “I just, you know. I’d never seen your rooms.”

“They’re not particularly interesting,” Thom says. “Odds and ends--”

“You’re interesting, though,” Alex says. There, that’s innocent enough, but given the kiss, Thom can choose to take it in whatever way he wants.

Thom smiles, and Alex thinks he probably guessed right about how Thom would choose to interpret it. “I’m interesting, am I?” 

“Terribly,” Alex murmurs, leaning in a little closer.

“You’re not entirely dull yourself, I suppose,” Thom says; thumb doing something quite fascinating behind Alex’s ear. Alex kisses him, because how are you supposed to answer that, anyway?

Thom’s hand slides up to curve around Alex’s neck and Alex waits for the pull, the steady grip that puts him where Thom wants him, but instead it’s a light hold. Alex could shake it off so easily, if he wanted to.

He doesn’t seem to want to. How strange.

\--

Later, he is sure that he truly doesn’t want Thom to let go. The intensity of his response would frighten him, if he could do anything but arch into Thom’s grip.

“How’s that?” Thom says. 

Alex is uncertain about his ability to breathe at the moment so he doesn’t reply right away. Thom’s hand twists. Alex moans.

“I do want to know if you like it,” Thom says, and he doesn’t sound unsure, exactly, but there’s something off about his tone.

“Uh-huh,” Alex manages, and tries to think of what he can say. Ordinarily he would try to needle Thom into getting irritated or huffy, he thinks he might expire from want if Thom stops. “It’s good,” he says, and his back arches again when Thom leans down and scrapes his teeth over Alex’s neck.

\--

There, that makes the first part of their plan a success. But getting Thom to resurrect someone he sees as his enemy will surely be difficult. Alex leaves most of the needling to Delia, because it’s far more effective if Thom treats Alex like someone he trusts at least a little, someone he discusses moral implications of sorcery with or demonstrates tricks to. Alex enjoys their discussions, sometimes just for their own sake; it’s nearly always a good time trying to get his mind to do something new and Thom has a fascinating way of explaining things.

Like now, flat on their backs, Thom sketching diagrams of light in the air.

“Do you see?” he murmurs, voice warm.

Alex shakes his head. “Almost,” he says. “But why is that part darker?”

“You noticed,” Thom says, sounding pleased. “It’s because it represents the boundary between the true Realm of the Dead and the bit in between.”

“‘The bit in between’?” Alex says, not even attempting to conceal his smirk. “Is that the proper term for it?”

“Yes,” Thom says, mock-seriously. “The bit in between is absolutely what we call it when we name it in spells.”

“Mmm, so I thought,” Alex says. And then, because, well, “I do know it has a specific name. For the spells.”

“Of course you do,” Thom says absently. 

Alex blinks at him.

Thom looks impatient. “You were Roger’s squire, which I would have assumed would give you familiarity with magic, but even with that, you know quite a lot about how magic works. I’ve noticed. Also, you’re quite bright.”

Alex isn’t sure why that comment has him unable to speak for a full minute. Eventually he says, “So do these diagrams mean you’re planning something?”

“Perhaps,” Thom says, and dismisses them with a flick of his finger. “But that’s enough spell talk for tonight, don’t you think?” He slides on top of Alex.

“I do think,” Alex agrees, grinning, and flips him. “My turn to run the show.”

“Is that right?” Thom says, smile broad, and Alex knows Thom could throw him off as easily as breathing, but he doesn’t. He stays still, jaw tilted in challenge and an invitation Alex has learned to recognize.

“I like you like this,” he murmurs, leaning in.

“Like what?” Thom’s eyelashes are very long, Alex notices.

_Beautiful. Here._ “Under me,” he says instead, smirk just this side of offensive.

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” Thom suggests, stretching, miles and miles of skin for Alex to touch. 

“Oh, I will,” Alex murmurs, mouth moving downwards. _I certainly will._ He doesn’t think about Roger, then, because all he can see is Thom, all he can hear is Thom’s voice cracking when Alex’s hands slide around his hips.

\--

The relative peace doesn’t last. Alex shows up at Thom’s rooms a few days later and Thom doesn’t open his doors until Alex pounds on them, hard.

The door slams open. “What?” Thom snaps. His hair is standing on end and his clothes are disheveled like he just threw them on. 

“You look like someone dragged you through a hedge,” Alex informs him, instead of reminding Thom they were supposed to go into the city to look at a horse for Thom today.

“I’m working,” Thom says shortly.

Alex grits his teeth. Roger used to do this too, dismiss Alex in favor of his work, and it always frustrated Alex even when he knew the importance of what Roger did. 

“We were going into the city,” Alex says, and tries very hard to keep his tone civil. 

“I don’t have time,” Thom says. “I don’t need another horse anyway, find someone else to go play with.”

“Instead of playing with you, you mean?” Alex says, leaning on the door, and he wants to take it back as soon as he says it, because he can’t lose Thom now.

Thom goes pale. “If you prefer someone else’s company,” he says, making to shut the door.

“Perhaps I do,” Alex says, turning around to leave. He’s cursing himself even before he’s halfway down the corridor. It seems Roger was right about Alex’s temper; he can’t keep it to save his life. Or even Roger’s.

He waits two days before he returns, to allow Thom’s ire to cool, but it still takes him a good two hours to talk Thom around. 

“Of course I don’t want anyone else’s company,” he says finally, gaze open and sincere, hand stretched out to touch Thom’s face. “How could I?” 

Thom grimaces, but he lets him stay.

\--

It gets slightly easier after that. They don't talk about Roger, but Alex keeps encouraging Thom to try new magic, to show off, to take the place he deserves among the masters, and he knows from Delia that Thom is getting easier to needle. He grows short-tempered, but he doesn't lose his ire with Alex again. They're spending a lot of time together, enough that Alex's training is suffering, but he feels at peace. He's closer to having Roger back, he knows it. 

Weeks after their fight, Alex does his customary walk through the citadel, stopping by Thom’s rooms on his way to the dining hall. They've gotten into the habit of having drinks before the court dines together, because, as Thom puts it, “One needs a little fortification before enduring hours of inane conversation.”

Alex didn’t always find it so hard to bear, not when he’d sit with his friends, but these days most of them have positions of great responsibility. Alex, well. Alex has Delia and the other idiots in the most inept conspiracy in history. Most of his old friends no longer talk to him. Thom is easily the most bearable part of his day. 

He tries not to dwell on that too much, because Thom is also the only hope that the conspiracy has of ever succeeding, and Alex has a feeling that Thom might not be so inclined to make his days bearable, after.

But then Roger will be back. So it won’t matter. 

Thom doesn’t answer when Alex knocks. 

“Trebond,” he calls, knocking again and harder. Finally he looks up and down the corridor and pushes the door inwards. He can’t quite justify it to himself, the correct response would be to go down to dinner and then tease Thom later about absent-minded scholars, but something in him is worried. 

He takes a sharp breath as he sees the state of Thom’s rooms. Evidently he was right to be concerned. The table is split in two, the hangings have come down from the walls, the windows are--there’s glass everywhere, red and blue and green and clear shards spilling across the floor.

“Thom!” he calls again, near-shouting now. “Thom, you idiot, what did you--” And he looks up and there’s a shadow in the corner, something, no, someone taking shape and Alex knows who it is. But he sees Thom in the next room, sprawled across the bed, as pale as the sheets under him. Before Alex can even think about it, he’s at Thom’s side.

“Here,” Alex says. “Come on.” He props Thom up, touching his forehead. He’s damp with sweat, and as hot as anything Alex has ever felt. “You’re running a fever.”

Thom murmurs something, turning his face into Alex’s neck. 

“What?” Alex says, and his voice is soft and stupid. He just doesn’t know how to react. Something, someone, _Roger,_ is taking shape in the next room and yet somehow he can’t let go of Thom.

“Over-extended,” Thom says, enunciation more clear. “Nothing dangerous, it’ll pass.”

“I’ll bring you dinner,” Alex says, because the only time he ever saw Roger weak with magic-exhaustion, the duke had eaten three times his usual serving at dinner that night.

“Not, I don’t need, no,” Thom says, shaking his head.

“Idiot,” Alex says. He sounds fond. Damn. 

“No, would just,” Thom makes a gesture with his free hand, the one not clenched in Alex’s shirt, and Alex thinks it’s supposed to be a shorthand for nausea.

“I’ll go to the kitchen, get you some broth,” he says, cajoling, and then realizes that to do that he would have to leave Thom with Roger, the thing-that-is-becoming Roger, and he really doesn’t want to do that. It’s the first step in all their plans, and yet. “I’ll send a maid for some broth,” he amends, stroking Thom’s hair out of his eyes.

“Just stay,” Thom says, muffled, mouth moving over Alex’s shirt. 

“Of course,” Alex says, looking up at the ceiling. “Certainly.”

Thom falls asleep after a little while, and Alex begins the painstaking process of cleaning up, setting the furniture to rights and gathering the flung-about books. He can’t look at what is happening next to the wall, but he can see it taking shape out of the corner of his eye and part of him is singing with joy, because Roger, Roger. But he still can’t look at it. And he can’t leave Thom.


	2. Chapter 2

\--

As it turns out, bringing someone back from the dead doesn’t take one major spell, it takes weeks. Thom revives, though he still looks beyond exhausted, and he doesn’t tell Alex anything (though he must know Alex knows), doesn’t ask him to come by and doesn’t let him in when he does anyway. With a persistence that surprises himself, Alex doesn’t leave him alone. 

Roger did always say Alex became attached too quickly. But really, he’s just keeping an eye on Roger and their best asset at once. Someone has to make sure Thom doesn’t die while he’s bringing Roger back and keeping Jonathan safe. Someone—

Alex knows Jonathan wouldn’t approve. He’s not an idiot. He hasn’t been close with Jon in years; he’s effectively plotting to dethrone Jon’s father. Jon wouldn’t approve. Jon would, in fact, make sure they were all jailed for treason. He’s just not going to be the one that puts Jon in harm’s way. Plenty of people around to do that.

He can picture Myles’ face at this hashed-together logic. It doesn’t hang together in the slightest, but then again Alex doesn’t feel like he hangs together very well, these days. He can bring Thom food, though, and yell at him to eat it through the door, as the servants have become too scared of the many noises from in there to go by Thom’s rooms. Alex hates to think how messy they’ve become by now. 

Jon finds him, one of these times, standing outside knocking and calling Thom every name he can think of because he still won’t open. He breaks off when Jon comes up to him, shrugging under Jon’s quizzical gaze.

“Do you know what he’s doing in there?” Jon says, looking at Alex and the tray.

“No,” Alex says, and tries to make it as convincing a lie as he used to be able to pull together. Roger always called him the most sure liar he’d ever met, said he had to use his stone to see if Alex was telling the truth.

“Hm,” Jonathan says. “He’s not eating, though?” 

“He forgets, when he’s working,” Alex says.

“I didn’t know you were friends,” Jon says.

“We’re not, really,” Alex says, but that doesn’t sound quite right, does it. He affects a smile. “He’s less irritating than most, I suppose. I’d hate to see him perish from a lack of food.”

“I’ll tell Alanna you’re keeping an eye on her brother when I write,” Jon says, looking a bit amused. It’s a look Alex hasn’t seen on him in a while.

“Do,” he says, and glances at the tray.

Jon smirks, and knocks. “Trebond,” he says. “Eat your food or I’ll tell your sister on you.”

Annoyingly, that makes Thom open the door and take the tray. He barely acknowledges Alex.

\--

Eventually he does let Alex in. Pale and wan, something hard in his eyes. Looks like skin stretched over bones. Says he needs blood from someone close to Roger, and Alex was his squire, wasn’t he? Alex nods his assent and tries not to look at the blood-red tangle in the corner, orange and purple warring for dominance, tendrils of magic snaking around each other. Alex never saw Roger do anything quite like this. 

Thom’s rough when he touches him, the cut of the knife startling and sharp. Alex wants to joke, wants to say something to take that look off his face, but his tongue feels thick and clumsy in his mouth, and somehow he stays silent under Thom’s hands. This is not the way they usually interact.

“What is this for?” he finally manages. 

Thom smirks. It’s an ugly smirk, ill-fitting for Thom’s face. “Don’t you know?” he says.

Alex shakes his head.

“I thought Delia would have told you how this had to work,” Thom says.

“Delia?” Alex says. He feels like he’s half a step behind this conversation. 

“You were all—you wanted this,” Thom says, eyes on Alex’s skin where the blood is falling into a bowl. The bowl glows orange; Alex is beginning to hate that color.

“Did she say something to you?” Alex says.

“No,” Thom says, and winces. The orange in the corner starts glowing stronger.

“Thom, how does this work?” Alex has to swallow to get the words out. 

“A little bit of me, a little bit of you,” Thom says, tying off a rag around Alex’s arm, quick, sharp movements. He shrugs. “Some blood. Some bones. Some life where there should be none. It’s not a pretty piece of magic.”

“Not like those lights you showed me, hm?” Alex says, and it’s a fairly desperate attempt to provoke a smile, but Thom doesn’t bite.

“No, nothing like those.” Alex doesn’t say anything after that.

He leaves, after, and can’t even find the words to ask Thom to eat. At the next meeting with his fellow conspirators he says all is proceeding as planned in a voice he doesn’t recognize. He leaves before they’re done, snapping at Claw when he exclaims he ought to stay. Alex somehow hasn’t the stomach for listening to any of them. The gnawing in his stomach will surely quiet down when Roger is back, but for now it’s enough to take all the patience he ever had away.

He spends a lot more time at the practice grounds after that, even acquiescing when a squire he’s forgotten the name of asks to be shown a couple of his sword moves. Anything, anything at all that takes him out of his head is welcome. He knows Delia has taken to going by Thom’s rooms in his stead, because “someone has to.”  
\--

It is a cold February evening when Thom presents Roger at court. Alex is late that night, having spent six exhausting hours helping Raoul root out a nest of robbers and then spending about two hours scrubbing the mud out of his skin. He volunteered, Raoul giving him a strange look when he did so, and Alex said something about being terribly bored. In reality, he was humming with nerves strung so tightly that if he didn’t get to take it out of someone’s hide, he thought he might burst. 

At breakfast that morning, Delia said, “He’s nearly ready.” Alex dropped his knife on the floor and bent down to pick it up, shaking so badly he thought it must be immediately visible. He hasn’t gone near Thom’s rooms since after Thom explained how it would all happen, and now he will see him for the first time since his death.

Thus, robbers. It was all terribly logical. 

But it wasn’t enough. Alex is at the back of the room, watching Thom and Roger together and he’s still shaking; six hours knee-deep in mud didn’t help at all.

The king makes a proclamation of forgiving Roger and welcoming him back. It has been known for a week that he would, since Thom first announced what he’d done and the king smiled his benevolent smile and called it a new beginning. Thus, the court is still reeling in shock from finding out that the Duke of Conté had come back to life and, moreover, is no longer to be considered a criminal. The pardon had been immediate, both for the resurrection and for the crimes that Roger had been accused of.

Roald’s peace-keeping nature was something the conspirators had counted on, but Alex is still irritated (on principle) by the idea of a monarch pardoning someone who ostensibly tried to kill him. He also can’t figure out whether the king is doing it because of sentiment or because it’s easier or because he’s a meek fool, but he does appreciate the fact that not having to worry about the repercussions made it easier for him and the others to bring Roger back. Still. 

Jonathan doesn’t look happy to be reintroduced to his uncle. Alex still knows him well enough to see that. He stays at the back of the room, watching, until Roger and Thom make it all the way around to him. Roger has a hand on Thom’s elbow at that point, and from the amused look on Roger’s face, Alex has failed to hide the flash of resentment he felt on seeing that.

“Squire,” he says. Thom looks at both of them. Alex can’t read his face at all.

Alex bows, silent. He still doesn’t know what to say to Roger now. He’s _here_ , which is nothing short of a miracle, and yet. 

“My big project, as you said,” Thom says, and it’s Roger’s turn to look a little discomfited. Thom’s eyes flash with something almost nasty. “Tirragen and I have made a habit of conversing at these gatherings. It’s restful to speak with someone a little less dull than the rest.”

“I’ll admit we never did talk enough,” Roger says, looking at Alex. His tone is—warm. Or suggestive. Alex flushes.

Thom’s mouth twists, but Alex doesn’t think Roger notices. “Well, you have your chance now.”

“And I have you to thank for it,” Roger says, and Alex is meant to chime in, but he’s still having trouble speaking. Roger’s gaze is strange, glittery, and his movements are a little erratic. 

“Don’t thank me, please,” Thom says, and he’s definitely unhappy. Alex usually either needles him into talking about it or topples him into bed at this point, but he can do neither of them right now.

“I could thank you,” he offers.

“No need,” Thom says. “I must retire, anyway, it has been a long and tiring two months.”

“I’ll come see you tomorrow,” Roger says, and Thom flinches. He covers it up well, bowing and backing away, but Alex knows that look. 

And then he’s alone with Roger. He’s imagined this moment so many times, and now that it’s arrived, he can’t think of anything to say.

“It’s been a while,” he settles on, smiling a little. 

“Indeed,” Roger says. He looks so different; Alex can’t get past how different he looks even though everything about him seems to be the same. Something about his collar, perhaps. It’s wrinkled, quite unlike how Roger would normally look at court. Maybe he’d been nervous while dressing—no, Roger was never nervous. 

“It’s good to have you back,” he offers.

“You might be the only one to think so,” Roger says. 

“Delia--” Alex starts, unsure of why he’s bringing her up. He used to be very jealous of Delia and her turns in Roger’s bed.

“Oh, Delia,” Roger says, dismissive. “She’s useful, I’ll admit. Not quite as useful as young Thom of Trebond, but useful enough.”

Alex doesn’t know why he does it, but he smirks and says, “Thom is useful. And very obliging.”

Roger looks a little surprised, then grins in return. “I suppose I shouldn’t have expected you to be faithful to my memory.”

That hurts, Alex has to restrain himself from grimacing. Roger doesn’t like it when you profess your emotions at him, especially not in public. “I did miss you,” is all he says. Lightly, carelessly. “Should I keep cultivating Trebond? He does seem to find me interesting enough.” He wants to keep seeing Thom, but somehow he also wants Roger’s permission to do so. Or for Roger to tell him “not now that I’m back.” 

“Yes, I caught that, what with how he spoke of your scintillating conversation,” Roger says, and the tone in his voice tells Alex exactly what he thinks of Thom and of the two of them together. “I’m certain your continuing to see him would be successful in retaining him as an asset. I don’t think he’d be receptive to my advances. Too much history with his sister, I suppose.”

“Right,” Alex says. “What will you--”

“Not here,” Roger says, and there’s the dismissal, Alex remembers what that felt like. “Not here, my dear feckless squire, we shall speak soon. I have things to tell you.” He turns away, going to speak to someone else. Probably Delia.

Alex nods, even though he wants to ask Roger to stay and talk to him. He leaves the gathering soon after that, and without even thinking, he finds himself at Thom’s door, knocking.

It takes a while, but Thom opens. Upon seeing Alex, he blinks in surprise.

“I thought--” he says, then stops. “Why are you here?”

“Tired of inane conversation,” Alex says breezily. “Can I come in?”

Thom looks at him for quite a long time. Alex stays still, lets himself be looked at, even though he feels quite uncomfortable about it. Finally, Thom steps aside.

\--


	3. Chapter 3

\--

It takes a few days for the conspirators to gather again. Delia smiles when Alex asks, says something about allaying suspicions, and finally sends word and directions to an out-of-the-way room that it takes Alex twenty minutes to get to without being seen. His mouth is dry; he knows Roger will see them today, and the hour he has to spend listening to the others before he arrives passes as slowly as any tedious lesson he ever had. 

Roger sweeps through the door, circles the table, ending on Alex’s right. They rise to greet him. Alex can’t help his smile. He’s barely seen Roger, in the three days since his introduction at court, but he’s alive. Alive.

“Squire,” he says. Alex nods, looking up--no, down, that’s odd, he’s taller than Roger now. “Squire, Delia, blond-I-don’t-know-yet, and you are Ralon, I presume?”

“I go by Claw now,” Claw says, chin going up. Alex’s mouth twitches. 

“I see,” Roger says gravely. “Of course.”

“Do you wish to know our progress?” Delia asks, and she’s almost curtsying. Alex can’t quite decide whether she wants to be Roger’s future queen because of the power or if she wants it because she’s actually in love with Roger. Possibly both. 

“I desire you all to follow my lead without asking any silly questions,” Roger says, and his hand is on Alex’s shoulder now, grip tight. “Now leave, I want to speak to my squire.”

They leave. Of course they do. Roger commands a room effortlessly, still, even if there’s something just a little strange about the way he moves. Alex remembers sword practice (it stopped once he nearly beat Roger) and he knows how Roger used to carry himself, but he can’t put a finger on what has changed, exactly. It’s the same vague thought he had when he saw Roger at the presentation, when his clothes were wrinkled. They’re pristine now, but the way he moves is stiff.

Not that it matters. He’s alive, anyone would move differently after having been buried.

“What did you need to speak to me about?” he says. Roger’s hand is still on his shoulder.

“It’s good to see you,” Roger says. 

Alex turns, Roger’s hand slipping off. “You too,” he says helplessly. “You too.”

Roger’s looking at him oddly, though, flexing his hand. “You grew,” he says. “You grew, and--you’ve become stronger, too.”

Alex shrugs. It’s been 18 months, he doesn’t say. He hadn’t been openly suspected of complicity. Jon must have prevented that, though he never told Alex so, but he didn’t offer Alex a position, either. 

“I’ve been training quite a lot,” he says, instead of all of that.

“Good, good,” Roger says, but he takes a step back. Alex doesn’t reach out for him, he’s learned better than that, but something in him twists, hard. He’d thought that once Roger was back they would – but the three steps between them feels very long indeed. 

“You wanted to speak to me,” he says again, because perhaps if he can show Roger that he’s useful, that he’s the only intelligent person in this mess of a conspiracy, then. Perhaps then.

“Yes,” Roger says. “Yes. Just to see how you are doing.”

“Fine,” Alex says, swallowing down the things he wants to say. “Can I help you with anything else? Do you need supplies for, I don’t know, magic?”

“Oh, no, my Gift is quite gone,” Roger says, an odd smile playing about his mouth. “A courtesy of the journey between the Land of the Dead and here, it seems.”

“I thought you would have been in the in-between place,” Alex says thoughtlessly.

Roger’s gaze sharpens. “Where did you learn that?”

“Something--something Trebond said once,” Alex says, determinedly keeping it as vague as possible, but Roger was always good at reading him.

“Whispering between the sheets, was he?” Roger says, and there’s something about the way he says it that doesn’t at all match up with Thom sketching patterns of light in the air, drawing a map for Alex and smiling warmly at him.

“Something like that,” Alex says, and makes himself smile in a way that matches Roger’s.

“Well,” Roger says, “do keep cultivating him. Make sure to tell me if he says anything else that could be useful.”

“Will do,” Alex says, and Roger leaves him there at that, turns and leaves and doesn’t touch him again. 

He ends up at Thom’s door again that night, so late one might almost say the night is over, but Thom opens at his knocking and doesn’t look like he’s slept at all. Not unlike Alex, in point of fact.

“Alex, what is it?” he says.

Alex shakes his head. He doesn’t know and he certainly can’t explain it to Thom. “I need,” he says, and it’s the first time he’s ever told Thom that. “I need, can I.” 

Thom lets him in, lets Alex push him against the wall and undress him, lets Alex kiss him and hold him too hard, too hard; mages are soft, too soft. But Thom lets him, doesn’t utter a word in complaint, just yields in this way that makes Alex ache. 

After, Alex sits up to leave when Thom reaches out. There’s a look on his face that Alex can’t put a name to at all, except that it makes him want to look away. He doesn’t, though. 

“Stay,” Thom says, then shakes his head a little, regaining that distant air he always has, like it doesn’t matter what anyone else does. “It’s too early to do anything but sleep.”

“I have to train,” Alex says, but he’s taking off his boots again, because the bed is warm and he’s really very comfortable and winter is cold in the castle. He must be cold, at any rate; his hands are shaking.

Thom takes them between his, drawing Alex close. “Good to see you being sensible,” he says, a sarcastic twist to his mouth. He’s warm. 

Alex says something, he’s not even sure what, and then closes his eyes again, curling into Thom despite all his intentions of not getting too close. He’s also sure he meant to say something dry there about Thom’s definition of sensible (Alex does need to stay alive, and without training?) or about how soft mages are, how they whine at the mere sight of a bit of rain. But it’s comfortable.

He swallows, keeping his eyes shut. “How long are you going to keep me here, then?” he says, and he’s not sure what he means, really. As if Thom _could_. Alex has never seen him use his magic against someone else, just to work on the weird models in his work room. And even when he revived Roger, it was magic to revive, not to kill. Alanna trusted him to keep Jonathan safe, but Alex thinks Thom probably would have just put up an impenetrable shield and been done with it, if anything had happened.

Thom says something inaudible, mouth against Alex’s hair, then clears his throat. “You’re welcome to make use of my bed and its inhabitant freely,” he says, and he sounds like he’s joking but Alex can’t really--freely? What does that even mean?

He doesn’t ask.

\--

The deaths of their Majesties are nothing Alex expects. He knew Queen Lianne was ailing, but to have her fall away so quickly, and the King—no one talks about the King.

Jon looks like death, when Alex sees him after. He doesn’t approach him in court, but finds him later, poring over papers in his study. Grains, Alex sees after a quick glance. Grains and budget numbers.

“I wanted to say I’m sorry,” he says. He never—he was very young, the first time the Queen fell ill, when Jon was ill as well, and he remembers how the court worried. 

Jon looks up, surprised gaze quickly sharpening. “Did you?” he says, then shakes his head. “Thank you, Alex.”

“If I can help,” he says, but he already knows Jon is going to shake his head.

“No, I have enough help,” he says. “Stay out of trouble.” His smile is a little odd. Alex swallows and bows, leaving him again.

\--

Over the next months, Alex feels like he’s constantly fumbling to keep up. Delia and the others are making plans, stupid plans, and Alex knows Roger isn’t really paying enough attention to them but he can’t bring himself to alert Roger, so he just watches. Occasionally word reaches court that the Lioness has done something else remarkable, and Alex makes sure Thom finds out, because it makes him smile, even as it makes Alex’s mouth taste sour. 

One such stupid plan is the plot to kill Jonathan, which of course leads nowhere (Alex could have told them it wouldn’t succeed, but it’s not like any of them ever listen to him). Instead, it turns out that Jonathan and the others already know that Claw is Ralon of Malven, which just confirms Alex’s opinion of Claw’s uselessness. If Roger ever becomes king, Alex is going to have to do something about Claw. Assuming no one else has managed to kill him by then. 

There is a plan for the coronation. Alex knows some of the details, and mostly tries not to think about them too much because it doesn’t fit together. It also seems like Roger has abandoned the plan of having Jonathan as an heir. Alex wonders if he isn’t missing something in the plans, because he may have been asked to bring Tirragen soldiers to the capital in time for the coronation, but they don’t have enough people for what Roger seems to be aiming at. 

It’s ironic, in a way: for such a long time he was looking no further ahead than to Roger’s resurrection, but now he desperately wants to see what the future has in store. He asks Roger once, but Roger smiles and says something about having a place for Alex, after he takes the throne. The conspirators, too, dismiss his concerns, because of course “dear Roger” has everything in hand. Roger no longer has his Gift, so Alex dearly wants to understand what his secret weapon is, how he’s planning to overthrow a Gifted King on the evening when he receives the power of the land. The Mithrans will be here, for one. Roger must have something in store, but Alex can’t see it. 

Alex goes to see Thom in the middle of all of this, because Thom is, at the very least, never stupid, and he needs someone to talk to whose ideas aren’t going to make him want to throw them out of a window.

Of course, Thom has to bring up Roger in relation to Alanna, which is just calculated to make Alex irritated. Apparently Roger tried to interrogate Alanna using a magical stone when she was a page. Alex knows exactly which stone he’s talking about, but he thinks the whole story sounds stupid.

“Why would he try to interrogate a page?” 

“Because the page in question was a close friend of Prince Jonathan and had saved his life during the Sweating Sickness,” Thom says. He’s a little red around the eyes, like he hasn’t been outside today or hasn’t slept. Again. 

“That’s right, Alan the miracle worker,” Alex says, instead of telling him to go back to bed. “But honestly, if Roger had actually tried to control all our minds, don’t you think I’d know? I was his squire for years.”

“The point of controlling someone’s mind is that they don’t know,” Thom says, a bite in his voice. “Alanna only noticed because she’s Gifted too. Someone who doesn’t have the Gift wouldn’t be able to tell.”

Alex rolls his eyes. “You Gifted are all alike. We’re not all idiots just because we can’t make things turn pretty colors, you know.”

“No,” Thom says, “but fighting a compulsion is hard without mental protection, such as that a mage could give you.”

“So we’re weak-minded, is that it?” 

“If you won a duel against someone who had never touched a sword, would you call them weak?” Thom snaps. “Roger could have left any number of compulsions in your mind and you would never know, just like you could kill any untrained man or woman before they even noticed you had done it.” 

“I don’t go up against untrained men, and Roger never hurt me,” Alex says, nearly snarling. 

“Didn’t he?” Thom says. “He never used magic on you? It never hurt?”

“That wasn’t—“ Alex swallows. Thom is wrong. “It wasn’t like that with us.”

Thom’s jaw is tight. “Why don’t you tell me what it was like, then, being the squire of the man who tried to kill my sister and mind-magicked Prince Jonathan into going off to the Black City by himself?”

“Really, Thom,” Alex says, truly angry now. “First it’s hypnotism and now it’s trying to kill the heir, was there really no end to Alanna’s lying?” He was off with the Bashir too, after all, even if Jon’s jaunt to the Black City couldn’t have been more stupid. But Jon did things like that back then, when he was still chafing at the bit about being the heir. He’s a lot more circumspect these days.

He determinedly avoids thinking about the upcoming coronation. Jon is an adult now. It’s different.

“My sister doesn’t make things up,” Thom says, intent. “She doesn’t think it’s worth her time.”

“She doesn’t lie? Really? Lady Alan doesn’t lie?” 

Thom shakes his head. “Not when she doesn’t have to, and she never lied about Roger.”

“Why don’t you give me some protections, then, and I’d be able to tell about Roger for myself, assuming that he did leave spells lying around in my mind?” Alex snaps. “Instead of having me trust you and your _sister_ , who kept so many secrets during her years here that it’s hard to find someone she didn’t lie to.”

Thom goes pale. Paler. “You know, one would think you of all people would understand about keeping secrets and the difference between lying maliciously and lying because you must.”

Alex swallows. “She had friends, dammit,” he says. And, “Will you, then?” 

Thom looks at him, blinking, ire momentarily forgotten. “Yes,” he says. “Yes, I will. I would have you free to make up your own mind.” He sounds oddly formal, and it’s unusual enough that Alex goes where he’s asked to go, walking closer to Thom when he beckons. 

Thom’s hands are soft on his face, tipping his chin up. He insists Alex sit down for it, even though Alex rolls his eyes, pointing out that he’s been through worse.

And he just stands there, just like that, hands shimmering with that strange blood-red color. Alex wonders when the purple will come back, and he doesn’t think Thom has even started to work yet. 

“Are you ever going to get on with it?” he says. “Because I do have other things to do today.”

Thom quirks an eyebrow. “I’m doing it,” he says. His lips are chapped, and Alex restrains himself from reaching out and smoothing a finger over them. 

“You’re doing it?” he says. “It doesn’t feel like anything.” It’s not like Alex can see magic; as Roger used to put it, “You’re just about the most unGifted child I’ve ever encountered.” But he can usually feel it being done to him. “Could you do it faster?”

Thom blinks, distracted, fingers still curved around Alex’s jaw. “If I don’t do this slowly, it’ll hurt.”

Alex isn’t sure how to respond to that. 

He settles on, “I don’t mind if it hurts,” and what he thinks is probably a challenging look.

“If you’re trying to get another reason to sneer at my magic abilities, it’s not working,” Thom says, thumb stroking Alex’s cheek lightly. He still sounds distant, like he needs his focus for this. Before, he never seemed to need to even think before whatever magic he was after was done. Alex doesn’t know what that means, really, except that he supposes magicking someone’s mind could be more challenging than building things out of thin air, like Thom used to. _He doesn’t do that anymore_ , he thinks.

“No, I--” Alex falters. Thom’s hand slides down to curve around his shoulder.

“There,” he says. “Done.”

“I don’t feel any different,” Alex says.

“And you shouldn’t,” Thom says, and now he’s properly looking at Alex. “Has someone done--did you say you’ve felt magic done to you?”

He hadn’t said that, in point of fact, but Alex supposes he implied it. “Once or twice,” he says. “We trained with Roger, you know.” Alex rather more than some of the others except perhaps Jonathan, and he’s certain his training was different from that of the heir to the throne. The soon-to-be-king. Maybe.

Thom’s mouth twists. “Well,” he says. “It’s a mark of a hack to hurt people unless you actually mean to do it.”

Alex doesn’t know what happens, but suddenly he’s on the other side of the room and Thom is on the floor. 

Thom blinks up at him surprised at first, but then there’s a hard set to his mouth and Alex is braced for it, the blow that must be coming. Lightning, maybe. Or just the slow twist of pain to bring him down until he asks for forgiveness.

But nothing happens.

Thom just looks at him and gets to his feet slowly, shakily, and oh, Alex hadn’t meant to do that. He’s aching to help and Thom must see it, the way he reads Alex so easily sometimes and sometimes seems to not get him at all.

“Don’t,” he says, steadily. “Don’t touch me.”

Alex swallows. “Sorry,” he says, and that’s new. 

“I should have known better than to insult your precious Roger,” Thom says, and he’s perfectly vicious now and Alex wishes Thom had used magic on him instead.

“He’s not my anything,” he says, because that was what he said for so long even when it wasn’t true. But Roger hasn’t touched him since he came back, not since the first night, anyway, so it’s at least mostly not a lie.

Thom’s smile is crooked. “No need to lie to spare me.”

“I’m not lying,” Alex says, and he can’t recognize his own voice. 

Thom blinks and shakes his head. 

“You can check, if you want,” and Alex knows he sounds biting, now. He’s expecting Thom to take him up on it; Roger didn’t exactly need prompting, back then. 

“I just built you a wall that no one can tell is there,” Thom says, and he sounds less angry, somehow. “Do you want me to ruin all that work just to go rummage around in your head?”

And isn’t that a strange thought, his mind being entirely his own. “You mean people can’t.”

“Yes, Alex, that was the entire point.” Alex hates that patronizing tone. He doesn’t really want to think about why.

He shakes his head. “Thank you,” he says, because that needs saying. And also, “You mean you haven’t, before?”

Thom looks at him, expression strange. “That would--no. I wouldn’t.” 

“I thought.” He thought Thom had. The way he touched Alex sometimes, he was sure he must have. But that explains all the moments that didn’t make any sense, the ones where Thom fumbled or he fumbled and they couldn’t figure it out at all. Alex had been so certain, still. 

Thom rubs a hand over his eyes. “You have high expectations,” he says.

Alex doesn’t know what he means. “I don’t know what you mean by that,” he says.

Thom’s eyes are searching. “You don’t, do you,” he says, and then shakes his head. “Could you go away for a bit? I find myself in need of more sleep.” He’s every inch the noble when he says it, the noble and the haughty sorcerer of their first meeting, but Alex is a warrior. A swordsman. He notices how people move, and Thom is shivering, a fine, minute tremor. 

“Are you cold?” he says. He wants to--he’s not sure what he wants.

“No,” Thom says, licking chapped lips. “No, it’s very warm in here.”

_It’s really not,_ Alex thinks, but doesn’t say it. “Come,” he says instead, approaching Thom slowly. “Come on, I’ll take you back to bed.” 

Thom looks down at his hands. “I’d really rather you go,” he says, but Alex can hear him weakening. 

“I really am sorry,” he says. It’s much easier to say the second time.

“You are,” Thom says, and it’s only half a question.

“Come to bed,” Alex says, and he’s close now, one hand extended towards Thom. He doesn’t wince when Thom takes it, even though he’s too warm, too warm, and Alex is getting more than a little worried. He’s definitely worse now than he was an hour ago. _Worse from building me a wall._

“Don’t you have things to do?” Thom says, but he lets Alex draw him down on the bed. 

“They can wait,” he says, even though they can’t. He’s expected at Delia’s in an hour, and Roger might even show up this time. No matter. Alex will be a little late. He coaxes Thom under the blankets and strips off his boots and sword belt and joins him. “Here,” he says, and gets Thom to curl in under his shoulder. “Sleep for a bit.”

\--

It’s a few days later when Thom’s fever won’t break, after he’s delirious for hours and Alex misses several meetings because he can’t leave Thom, that Alex just finally snaps. Thom keeps refusing to see Duke Baird, and he keeps getting worse. He can no longer get out of bed without help. 

Alex goes to see Myles, because he can’t think of anyone else who even has a prayer of making Thom listen.

Except Alanna, and she’s off having adventures while her brother is sick. So.

“How do you know?” Myles’ gaze is mild, and Alex is reminded of nothing as much as the discussions they used to have in class, when Alex would argue Ethics until Myles was as involved as he was.

Alex swallows and hopes he isn’t flushing. “We’re close,” he says. 

“That’s new, isn’t it?” Myles says.

“It’s been a few months,” Alex says vaguely. “But he’s really sick, Myles, and he won’t go see Duke Baird, and I.” The next sentence sticks in his throat. _Roger keeps going to see him, and I’m afraid he’s making Thom sicker._

He looks down at his hands, clenched on the table, then up again. He can’t do this. “I should go,” he says. “I apologize, I know it’s late.”

“Alex, wait,” Myles says, and Alex wouldn’t, but Myles sounds like his teacher right now instead of the King’s spymaster (which is supposed to be a secret, but very much isn’t) and he is so tired and he can’t get Thom’s drawn face out of his head.

“His Gift has the wrong color,” he says quietly, because he knows Thom’s illness started with the resurrection spell (he was there, after all), and he knows what he saw. But he can’t tell Myles that.

Myles draws a sharp breath. “Is that right,” he says. 

Alex can’t look at him, twisting his fingers together. “I. I saw. It’s rust-red. Like the purple was corrupted by--”

“Orange?” Myles says softly.

Alex nods, closing his eyes. _I said it_ , he thinks. _I said it_. Thom will be furious if he finds out. Roger will--Alex hopes Myles doesn’t make him say anything else.

“Thank you for coming to me, Alex.” Myles voice is still soft, as if Alex is a skittish horse or something such. “I promise I will look into it.”

He should be relieved at that.

He really should be relieved at that. Somehow he isn’t, though; his stomach is twisting and he wants to know what’s going to happen. 

“I want to help,” he says, and it feels like the floor falls out from under him. 

“Do you?” Myles says, neutral as ever, but Alex can hear the tone that means he approves of something Alex has said. They got there sometimes in Ethics, when Myles hadn’t actually given them a position but kept asking Alex questions and let Alex reason it out in class.

“I do,” he says, and he really does. He wants to help. He chances a look at Myles.

Myles just nods at him. “Good,” he says. “Thom can probably use it.”

Alex breathes in shakily. “Yes,” he says. Thom can use the help, he does know that. He was woken up three times last night by Thom’s coughing and he got him water and rubbed his back until it subsided, but it’s not like that was anything but a momentary relief. 

“I have some ideas,” Myles continues, “but I think for now we simply need to know more. So I’m going to send word to a contact of mine who specializes in information, if you will. I’ll send word when--do you need a cover story for coming here?”

Alex can’t even answer that, because it’s probable that a cover story won’t be enough. Someone in the conspiracy has the Gift, they have to. _No, remember, you have a wall._ “Maybe,” he says. “But it has to--people giving it have to believe it.”

“So it’ll be a true cover story,” Myles says, as if that is no bother at all. “Don’t worry, I’ll handle that part.”

“You’ll take care of that?” Alex says, and he can’t help the sardonic humor in his voice.

Myles raises an eyebrow. “You doubt my ability to put about a story and have it sound true?”

“No, not at all,” it’d be a little silly to think the King’s spymaster incapable of spreading lies, but: “What about you?” _You’ll know the truth._

“I’m fairly well protected,” Myles says.

Alex wants to say that sometimes that doesn’t help, but he doesn’t. “Yes,” he says instead, but something in his tone must betray his concern because Myles touches his shoulder.

“I mean that,” he says. “I’m very well protected, and I will endeavor not to be alone with people I should not be alone with.”

Alex nods. That will have to be good enough. 

“In the meantime, you continue as you have been doing. You need to bring more Tirragen soldiers to the capital, correct? Say, in six months or so? “ Myles says.

Alex goes cold. “Did you--”

“Did I know there was a conspiracy?” There’s nothing in Myles’ face at all that Alex can read.

Right. Stupid question. They knew about Claw. He just nods. Waits for Myles to say he’s going to be jailed for treason. Executed. Which would be an odd continuation after Myles told him to keep on as he has been.

“I do realize there are legitimate concerns about allegiances here,” Myles says. “But a lot can happen in six months. We need to make sure Thom is healthy again by then, for one.”

Alex just nods, because if he says anything right now, he’ll -- right. Thom healthy. To do battle for the king, with whoever Roger puts up against him, presumably. He wants to throw up. Saving him to lose him, is that what he’s doing here? He musters a smile and rises, extends a hand to Myles. “Thank you for seeing me,” he says. “You’ll send for me if I can, if.” He doesn’t know how to finish the sentence. If you figure out how to keep Thom from dying?

“Oh, no need to go anywhere yet,” Myles says. “I was about to go make myself a sandwich in the kitchen, as I am wont to do on nights when I can’t sleep. You should come with me. You look like you haven’t eaten in days.”

“I’ve eaten,” Alex protests lamely, but Myles is a force of nature when he makes up his mind and so Alex finds himself in the kitchens, eating bread and cheese and trying to keep up with Myles’ telling him about someone named Eleni who apparently lives with him and who might be able to help, possibly.

“Has Thom told you who taught him when he was with the Mithrans?” Myles says suddenly, in the middle of a long monologue on herbs and something else that Alex wasn’t really keeping up with.

“Yes,” he says, and Myles abruptly ceases to be casual.

“Is that so,” he says, looking very closely at Alex again.

Alex nods. “He mentioned someone named Si-Cham.” In the middle of a long rant about impossible priests.

Myles nods. “Good,” he says. “I know who to send for, then.”

Thom really will kill him. Alex swallows another bite of the sandwich, mouth feeling more and more dry. 

“I don’t know him all that well,” he says, and takes another bite of his sandwich to prevent himself from saying anything else.

“Of course not,” Myles says. 

Alex doesn’t look at Myles. “Who are you planning to send to the Mithrans?” He doesn’t know if Myles will tell him, but he has to point out that “It can’t be someone from court, can it?

“No,” Myles says. “And most of my regular operatives aren’t suitable. I think I know who could help, though. Would you mind coming for dinner tomorrow?”

“Won’t that be--” _suspicious _.__

__“Leave it to me,” Myles says, and Alex supposes he must. He’s come this far, he can’t balk now._ _

__He makes his way back down the corridors. It’s early enough that the maids aren’t even up yet. He’ll be early for training. He takes himself down to the grounds and goes round after round after a practice dummy, trying to not think about what he has done. Trying not to think at all._ _

__\--_ _


	4. Chapter 4

That evening, when the polite guard captain approaches him in full view of the court and requests his presence at the home of Sir Myles of Olau, Alex understands. Of course the easiest way is to bring him in for questioning.

He bows with a smile, feeling Thom’s eyes at the back of his neck, the rest of the court watching, and walks behind the guard captain all the way out of the castle. Someone will notify Roger, he’s sure. He shivers.

He’s admitted to Myles’ home without delay, and the guard captain leaves. Myles is there, clearly waiting for him, and there’s a moment before he speaks when Alex wonders whether the guard captain was not a sham.

Then Myles smiles. “Welcome, Alex. There’s someone I want you to meet.” He brings Alex into the library, and there is indeed a man there.

Alex carefully hides his wince. He’s seen this man before.

He was fourteen at the time, newly chosen as Roger’s squire, and he followed Alanna and Jonathan to the city because, well. Because he didn’t know where they went without him and they even brought Gary once and he just. It felt a little lonely. 

So he followed them to The Dancing Dove and he hid at a table in the corner and watched them talk to a man he didn’t recognize but that everyone in the place (except Jon and Alanna) treated with just a touch of reverence. It was interesting to watch, but he ended up leaving long before either of his friends. It just wasn’t very fun to sit there by himself.

This is definitely the same man. Alex has a good memory for faces. 

Myles clears his throat. “Alex of Tirragen,” he says. “This is George Cooper.”

George’s mouth quirks, but his eyes are hard. “Charmed, I’m sure,” he says, then turns to Myles. “Isn’t this the squire who broke Alanna’s collarbone?”

“It’s possible he wasn’t entirely himself at the time,” Myles says.

Alex blinks. He hadn’t even really put that together. “You think--” he stops speaking, swallowing. Alan’s, no, Alanna’s face, pale and drawn with pain is blinking up at him, the fog in his mind receding into shock. He’d replayed that duel a hundred times in his mind.

“I think that in retrospect, the remorse in your face and the surprise at what you’d done read as entirely genuine,” Myles says. “Which requires some sort of explanation, since you certainly did break her collarbone, and ordinarily you’re good enough to judge exactly how hard a blow you deal out will fall. I don’t think you meant that one, and you looked bespelled, particularly after.”

Alex has to sit down. “I have to sit down,” he says.

George is looking between them bemusedly. “Well, you can take my chair,” he says, standing up. His eyes are still wary, but he’s looking a little less suspicious. 

Gratefully, Alex takes the chair. His legs feel as shaky as they were after the Sweating Sickness. Which, come to think of it, may not have been natural either. It’s all a little much to take in.

“Here,” Myles says, hand on Alex’s shoulder. He hands Alex a wine glass. “Drink slowly.” 

Alex considers drinking it quickly instead, but he’ll need his wits tonight, he’s sure. His fingers are nearly cramping around the glass, he’s holding it so tightly, and he takes the first gulps too fast, despite his resolve to stay steady.

“I don’t want to get you drunk, I’m trying to calm you down,” Myles says, and Alex slows down. He’s not sure what it is, but it’s rather strong. “Can’t have a secret conspirator who turns sheet white when things become a little sticky, can we?”

“It’s not like it’s my first secret conspiracy,” Alex protests, then realizes what he just said.

Myles is laughing at him, just a bit. George is looking between them like he’s never seen anything this interesting. “Right, but you’re about to join a different one, aren’t you? This one being the conspiracy for the health of Thom of Trebond, that is.”

“Oh.” Alex says. That’s true. “That’s true,” he says, and looks at George. “Myles says you can help. I’m not entirely sure how, but I’d be very much obliged if you would. I’d be in your debt.” These things keep getting easier to say. 

“Thom is sick?” George says sharply. “What’s wrong?”

“We don’t know,” Myles says, and at George’s incredulous look, he shrugs. “It appears to be magical in nature, but we know nothing beyond that. Alex brought it to my attention.”

“Alex did, did he.” George looks at Alex. “What is Thom to you?”

“A friend,” Alex says firmly, because this much he has practiced in his head. “A very good friend, and he really is very ill, though he doesn’t wish it generally known. He barely talks to me about it.” 

“Fair enough,” George says, but he doesn’t look away from Alex. “How do we know you’re not still ‘not yourself’, as it were?”

“Thom--” Alex stops himself. “You’ll have to trust that,” he says. “You can ask Thom, but this is not something I wish widely known.” Thom worked very hard to give him that wall; Alex can’t stop thinking about after, when he shook and Alex stroked his hair (he still can’t believe Thom let him, but he was feverish again at that point). He wants it to stay secret so it will be as useful as possible and so Thom might feel like it was worth it, even if he just did it to prove a point.

“I think I might,” Myles says.

“I’m not certain I do,” George says mildly. “Who’s to say you won’t certainly go all not-yourself again and attack Thom, who is apparently ill and possibly can’t defend himself properly? Or someone else?”

“I wouldn’t hurt him,” Alex says automatically, even as he can hear someone sneer _You already did_ in the back of his mind.

“You wouldn’t?” George says. “You hurt his sister.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Alex says. “I didn’t--I really didn’t mean to.” He swallows. “In a duel, I normally know everything I’m doing, where every move leads. I’m very good. I’m not just saying that.” 

“He really is,” Myles says, “but no doubt you know that as well.”

“Of course I do,” George says, making an impatient gesture. “Tell me what was different about this duel.”

Alex isn’t sure if he can explain this. “I remember horsing around with Alanna, laughing, and we decided we’d finally try each other out. He, she was the star of the squires and I was the best before her. I remember that part, and then we began, and it gets blurry. You must understand, ordinarily I would never have let a practice duel get to the point of serious blows. I remember the duel, but it’s as if there’s a sheet of glass between the memories and my thoughts about them, if that sounds at all sensible. And then she was on the ground and I’d broken her collarbone. I’d never--I wouldn’t have.” He swallows. They don’t have to believe any of that, but it is the truth. He does remember Roger’s reaction, after, the faint tinge of disappointment that Alex had thought was because his squire had let a practice duel get out of hand. 

“Sounds fairly convincing,” George says. “You’ve convinced Myles, at any rate.” He nods at Myles.

“I have?” Alex says. “I mean. Good. It’s true.”

“I know,” Myles says mildly. “I hope you will accept my apologies for not seeing the truth of it at the time.”

“What would you have--” Alex falls silent. _Removed me from Roger, if you could._ He winces. Myles wouldn’t have been able to, he knows. He’s having trouble fitting all the pieces together and he really wishes he could go and tell Roger, have Roger explain it all to him. Things always made more sense when Roger explained them, and Alex feels like he’s hovering between two ways of seeing the world at the moment. He wonders why they aren’t asking him to choose. 

“You’ll send someone to the Mithrans?” Myles says. Alex looks up, forgetting his thoughts. 

“For Thom’s tutor? For help?” he says. 

George looks at him, really looks at him, then smiles, unexpectedly gentle. “I’m going myself,” he says. “We’ll have young Trebond healthy again, don’t you fret.”

“Thank you,” Alex says. Then, because this part is important: “I truly am in your debt.”

George blinks. “No, there’s--I was worrying about Thom myself, and I don’t need an excuse to help Alanna’s brother. You don’t owe me anything, young master Tirragen.”

“I do,” Alex insists, “and I am. In your debt. If you help him.” 

“Fair enough,” George says, exchanges an enigmatic glance with Myles who merely smiles, inclining his head. He nods at them both and walks out.

“Do drink up,” Myles says. “Alex, we need to talk about why I brought you here tonight, but first I have one more question.”

Alex nods. This must be when Myles asks Alex to choose sides somehow, and he wishes he could figure out a way to answer that question.

But that’s not what Myles says. Myles sits down again, opposite Alex, and he looks at him and he says, “Alex, what do you need?”

Alex drops the goblet. “Sorry,” he says. “Sorry, I--” Myles shakes his head, dragging the table cloth off the table and mopping at the spilled wine on the floor.

“Not to worry,” he says. “But do tell me. What do you need?”

“I don’t understand,” Alex admits.

“Can I help you in any way?” Myles says, still mopping at the stain on the floor. 

Oh. “No,” Alex says. “No, Myles.” He swallows. “No, just. Help Thom, please.”

Myles lets him leave, after that. He merely reminds Alex that what he asked him here for was a hearing on suspicious activity. “And you can tell Roger I asked after him, and that you told me nothing.”

\--

The next meeting of the conspirators comes to an entirely predictable conclusion when Roger yells at the conspirators for doing things he didn’t tell them to do and says to Alex, “I am surprised at _you_ , my former squire.”

Former squire. Former. Alex doesn’t react, forces himself to answer Roger’s implied question. _Why didn’t you tell me?_ is what he’s really saying, and Alex isn’t even really sure. 

He tells Roger he didn’t think it was important enough to bother him with, which has the benefit of being at least partially true (he could see the inevitable failure the second they told him their plans). Roger asks him what he wants out of all this, which is uncomfortably close to questions Alex doesn’t want to answer, even to himself, but he thinks about trying his sword against the Lioness and manages to smile at Roger like he means it.

“Perhaps you haven’t changed,” Roger says, and Alex has to work very hard to hide the flinch. Some days he feels like absolutely nothing has changed, like he still doesn’t understand what is happening and wants Roger to explain it all to him, and some days he’s sure absolutely everything is different and it’s too much to bear. He’s suddenly so grateful to Thom for hiding his thoughts that it’s a little hard to breathe; he wouldn’t want anyone to see what he’s thinking right now. Not Myles, and certainly not Roger.

Then comes the part Alex didn’t predict: Roger explodes glass in blood-red fire, the wrong color for his Gift, and Alex had known there was something off about Roger’s assertion that his magic was gone, but seeing it is different and so he did lie to Alex, he did. But blood-red? Alex knows the color of Roger’s magic, has seen it and felt it up close so many times he could blend it from memory if given pots of paint, and this is all wrong. Blood-red. Same as Thom’s. Purple and orange. He turns the shard of glass over in his hand and swallows, making himself smile when Delia asks, trembling, why Roger’s magic isn’t still gone.

He has to talk to Thom. But what does he even say?

“Your gift. It’s changed color, hasn’t it?” is what he ends up saying, standing just inside Thom’s door. He knows he looks a little wild-eyed, probably, if Thom’s expression is anything to go by, but. “Thom.”

Thom’s face is pale. “It was purple,” he says, and that’s what Alex thought and oh, that’s an answer, isn’t it?

Alex clenches his hand, then curses. He forgot he was holding the glass. He ignores the blood, opens his hand and holds out the piece of glass to Thom. “It looks like this now, doesn’t it?”

“Your hand,” Thom says. Before Alex can tell him to stay in bed where he ought to be, he’s getting up, grabbing a handkerchief and walking over to the door, tugging at Alex’s hand and ignoring the glass entirely.

“No, Thom, the glass,” Alex says impatiently, pulling his hand away. “Never mind this, I’m, I’ve had worse than this in practice, _Thom_ , look at the glass.”

Thom looks at the glass, touches it, and swears. “That’s the right color, yes, but where did you--”

Alex is so tired. He can’t tell Thom about Roger, can’t face his reaction. “Please don’t ask,” he says. “I just, I have to think, but please don’t ask right now.”

“Fine,” Thom says, “yes, fine, come here.” He’s being so gentle, why is he being so gentle? Alex feels like he’s just blinked and then they’re on the bed together, Thom kissing his hair and drawing him close.

“I haven’t slept in two days,” he tells Thom. 

“Perhaps that’s why you’re going around and cutting your hand up,” Thom says, and oh, Alex’s hand is bandaged. When did that happen?

“Did you--” he says, and Thom touches his mouth, silencing him.

“I did,” he says. “Now sleep for a little, I’ll keep watch.”

“You can’t, there’s something wrong with your Gift,” Alex mutters and feels Thom stiffening beneath him. 

“I can still keep watch,” he says after a pause. “Nothing wrong with my eyes, is there?”

“Purple,” Alex says, agreeing, and then he sleeps.

\--

He doesn’t ask Thom what is actually wrong with his Gift when he wakes up, and Thom doesn’t ask about the glass. They’re so careful around one another that inevitably they end up fighting about something stupid, Alex storming out and not coming back for days until Roger finds him and informs him that Trebond threw _him_ out and would Alex go find out what prompted that little temper tantrum, please?

Entering Thom’s room to find him passed out on the floor, Alex sighs. “You really need to stop doing this,” he mutters, sitting down on the ground and dragging Thom into his lap, stroking his forehead. “Wake up, idiot.”

Thom does, eventually, eyelids fluttering open. “Alex?” he says, voice hoarse. “Sorry, I’m--”

“Me too,” Alex says. And then, because he can’t not, “Please go see Duke Baird, Thom. You’ve been, it’s been weeks.” Months, really, Alex thinks, because Thom hasn’t been right since Roger came back. And Alex knew that all along, really, but not until now did he articulate it to himself. 

But he couldn’t not, even when that thought reverberates with _my fault, why did I start this_ , not with Thom shaking from a fever in his arms, not with Thom passing out left and right. “Like you’re some kind of heroine in a ballad,” he says into Thom’s hair, and then realizes Thom never answered him about the healers.

“Duke Baird,” he repeats, a little more insistently.

“What would I tell him,” Thom says, and he sounds so tired. “I’m not sick otherwise, and I can hardly tell him I have a cold in my Gift.”

Alex swallows. He has to. “I have to tell you something. If I tell you, will you please ask someone for help?”

Thom shakes his head. “Can’t promise that,” he says tiredly. “Help never, it never comes without a price. But tell me.”

“No one can hear what is said in these rooms, right?” Alex says, because Thom protected his mind but Alex has no Gift and can’t tell whether or not Roger put a listening spell on these rooms.

“No,” Thom says. “No, those spells--no.”

Alex closes his eyes. “Roger still has a Gift,” he says, and never were any words harder to get out. “It’s. It’s the same color as yours.”

“What,” Thom says. “You--what. That’s where the glass came from?”

Alex nods, blinking against the burn behind his eyes. He’s half expecting Roger to walk through the door and _know_ and hurt Thom for it, or Alex, or both of them. 

“Why are you telling me?” Thom says, and he’s sitting up, moving away from Alex. 

_Come back_ , Alex thinks, but also understands. “Because you’re sick,” he says. “Because. Because whatever is happening to you must have something to do with the spell to, to, resurrect him. Because you _need_ help and I want to help you.”

“I think you’ve helped me enough,” Thom says, and he looks worse, brittle and pale and stiff. “Please leave.”

“No, Thom, I--” Thom waves him silent.

“At least tell me this,” he says. “Did you know what it would do?”

“I just wanted him back,” Alex says, discarding a thousand possible responses. “I didn’t know what it would do, I don’t have a cursed Gift, I just wanted him back.”

“So this was all because of that,” Thom says, bundling together their months, their everything into one short sentence and it’s not true, even though it used to be, it’s so far from true Alex can’t possibly articulate it. “Please leave,” he says again, and he’s not even looking at Alex anymore. He tries to get up and falls over, and Alex bites his lip, hard. 

“I’ll help you back into bed and then I’ll leave,” he says, because he can’t leave Thom on the floor. He can’t. And he can’t beg. He has no right to ask Thom for anything.

Thom laughs, short and bitter. “You’ve helped me into bed enough,” he says, and abruptly his hand is shimmering with red. The door slams open. “Leave,” he says.

Alex half expects to be shoved out, but Thom doesn’t seem to be using his gift against him, even now. He leaves, and hears Thom throwing up behind him but doesn’t turn around, gouging his nails into his palms to remind himself to keep walking.

His determination to do this for Thom lasts all the way until he walks into Myles’ rooms and then he remembers what an idiotic thing this is, because surely someone will have seen him and tell Roger. 

“Alex,” Myles says, eyes sharp. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Alex sits down and wishes he’d asked Thom for a way to tell if a room is warded against listening. Stupid useless Giftless idiot that he is. But surely Tortall’s spymaster must have rooms warded against magical scrying. 

“Could you convince Thom to see a healer?” he says, because that’s what he most wants, and perhaps Myles can talk Thom into it, when Alex couldn’t. “Right now, I mean, before Si-Cham gets here.”

“Is he worse?” Myles says.

Alex nods. He has to get it out before he thinks about it, because. Because. “You should know,” he says. “You should know, because you know about most of the rest, I think, but you should know that Roger’s Gift isn’t really gone.”

Myles goes very still. “What?” he says.

“It’s how I knew something was wrong with Thom’s,” Alex says, and suddenly it’s easier to keep talking. “Roger exploded glass,” he clenches his still-healing hand at that, “and it was the wrong color. Red, like Thom’s Gift is.”

Myles draws a breath. “That’s good, Alex,” he says, though he doesn’t look as if anything Alex just said is good at all. “We’ll tell Si-Cham that, when he gets here, I’m sure it has something to do with Thom’s illness. Do you have any evidence?” 

“No,” Alex says. Mithros help him, if Myles arrests Roger for attempted treason with this and all the other evidence Alex has handed him it won’t be a trial by combat this time, it would be long and drawn-out and Alex would have to be a witness and. And.

Myles puts a hand on his shoulder. “Breathe, Alex. You don’t need to worry about this, we’re taking care of it.”

And that would be a comforting lie, if he could believe it, but Roger had told him his Gift was gone and before that, that he would take care of everything, that the country would be better off with him -- ”You can’t promise that,” he says. “You can’t promise that, Myles, don’t do it.”

Myles looks at him, measuring, almost. “You’ve come a long way. But I do mean it, Alex, please try not to worry. And thank you.” He doesn’t ask Alex what he wants again, which is good because Alex isn’t sure he could bear that question a third time. He has no idea, and he’s not sure he should have one; last time he thought he knew what he wanted it lead to-- 

“Just get Thom to a healer,” Alex says, and walks out.

He doesn’t go by Thom’s rooms, he goes back to his own and doesn’t sleep, doesn’t think, doesn’t do anything but sit at his desk all night until the dawn breaks and he’s free to go to the open-air practice courts. He runs through sword drills until he’s dripping with sweat and the sun has crawled higher; he considers breakfast for a second and opts not to, just rests, intending to start up a new sequence when he’s joined by Gary and Geoffrey, and he backs off to watch them run a few exercises, calling out pointers when Gary seems perilously close to tripping over his own feet. And then he looks beyond them and almost falls off the fence he’s sitting on.

Alanna of Trebond is standing there, talking to Raoul. She’s every inch the knight now, shoulders steady and gaze clear. Alex waits for the old ire to rise, and can’t seem to muster it. Maybe Alanna can make Thom see a healer. She may even be able to help; she has the Gift. She healed Jon when he had the Sweating Sickness. He wants to drag her to Thom’s rooms immediately, surely she must know he’s ill? But he can’t do that. Thom won’t see him, for starters.

He puts on a smile and goes over to them.

“You’ll have to tell us everything,” he says, breaking into Gary’s extolling of her rumored exploits. Apparently she traveled with a Shang Dragon and rescued a princess and--well. Alex shouldn’t be surprised.

“I promise it’s all exaggerated and ridiculous,” she says, grinning up at him. 

“I have no doubt,” he says, “but it’s good to see you, Lioness.” 

Geoffrey pokes her in the side. “Come on, let’s see if you’re still in shape.” He picks up two wooden practice swords and gives her one of them.

Gary scoffs at the notion that Alanna wouldn’t be in shape and Alex agrees, but does point out that the Shang Dragon prefers hand-to-hand, doesn’t he?

“You should teach us some of that,” he says, because learning something new always helps, when he’s thinking too much. 

“Maybe I will,” Alanna says, continuing, “he doesn’t avoid weapons, though, as much as he prefers hand-to-hand,” and then she disarms Geoffrey like it’s nothing. Alex did miss her, he realizes. She’s fantastic to watch, and she’s gotten better, _much_ better.

Making short work of Gary and then Raoul, she turns to him, and the others are goading him to give the Lioness a try. He considers it for a second, and slides off the fence.

“I’d rather wait until you’re fresh,” he says. “But. If you want, could you show us something the Shang Dragon taught you?”

She looks a little surprised. “I--yes, I suppose. I’ll have to warn you though, I really only learned anything because of my inability to leave well enough alone.”

“You mean because you’re more stubborn than Stefan’s most recalcitrant mule,” Gary translates, and they all laugh, Alanna rolling her eyes at them.

“We know you, Alanna, you haven’t been gone long enough for us to forget _that_ ,” Geoffrey says and something flickers in her face at that. Relief, Alex thinks, and fills in: because she wasn’t sure of her reception, given that last time she was at court, they found out she’d been lying to them for years. He certainly spent quite a bit of time being angry at her for that.

It must be easier now that she doesn’t have to lie anymore.

“I may not be quite as tenacious, shall we say,” Alex says, and it isn’t hard to smile, somehow, “but I think I could still learn something.”

“Well,” Alanna says, reaching out for his hand. “Let’s see you make a fist, then.”

\--


	5. Chapter 5

\--

Alex spends the entirety of Alanna’s reintroduction at court staring at Thom. He tries not to, he tries so hard not to, especially because Roger is in the room and he’ll be able to see what Alex is doing if he would pay attention to anyone but Alanna for even a minute, but Alex can’t help it. Thom is thin, gone frailer still in the last two days and Alex aches to hold him up instead of the wall he is leaning on. But these are things he cannot do; he has to trust in George bringing Thom’s old tutor here, he has to trust in his Ethics teacher to keep them all safe, and he can’t go hold Thom up because Thom wouldn’t have him.

It’s possible he spends most of the banquet afterwards drinking. He does cast an eye at the very beautiful foreign princess that was introduced along with Alanna, and the way Jon keeps looking at her. Not having been Jon’s friend in a while doesn’t mean he doesn’t recognize a Jonathan Conté in love, though it is a bit surprising. Most of the court, along with Alex, had been expecting the announcement of Jon’s betrothal to the lady knight to go along with the great big jewel she’d brought him. But perhaps Alanna is too much woman for the king-to-be, after all. 

While contemplating Thayet and worrying about Thom, he avoids Roger as best he can, without making it readily apparent that he is doing so. He may have mind protections and Myles may be right that it will all work out, but Alex remembers the last time he thought everything would turn out well. He is no longer sure that he’d have wanted that duel to end differently (he can’t be sorry Alanna is alive), but even so. 

Delia tracks him down, hissing that Ralon has gone even more unmanageable.

“I told you he was useless,” Alex says and downs the rest of his wine. “It’s not my fault if you lot will persist in ignoring my excellent advice.”

She looks like she wants to hit him. Alex can sympathize. A little violence would be excellent right about now. “Go keep Josiane in line,” he says instead. “Having her attack the foreign princess wouldn’t be ideal, you know?”

“She would do that, wouldn’t she,” Delia says, grinning ruefully, and for a second Alex can see the girl he likes, underneath all the spite. She’d even be welcome to take Roger and keep him, but he’s growing increasingly sure Roger wants someone very different. 

“Yes, yes she would,” he says, shooing her in the direction of Josiane.

“I’ll take care of it,” Delia says over her shoulder.

“See that you do,” Alex murmurs and turns, nearly tripping over his own feet. Thom is standing there, arms crossed.

“Making plans?” he says, voice cold. 

Alex swallows. “Just preventing the attempted assassination of that foreign princess your sister brought home,” he manages.

Thom’s mouth twitches like he wants to laugh. “By who? Surely Delia has more self-control than that?”

“Josiane,” Alex says, because he’s not going to lie to Thom again, he’s decided. Not ever, if he can avoid it. “She wanted Jonathan, and, well.” He gestures at the center of the room, where Jonathan and Thayet appear to be deep in conversation. “I always thought he’d marry your sister,” he adds, sneaking a look at Thom to see how he’ll take this.

“I did too,” Thom admits, voice a little softer. “But maybe--she has better prospects, I think.”

“Better than the future king?” Alex says, surprised.

Thom smiles. “Rank isn’t everything, nor is power.”

“I know that,” Alex says. “I thought, I mean. Jon loved her, certainly.”

“Love’s a funny thing,” Thom says, looking at Alex like--a week ago Alex would have said he knew that look.

“Yes,” he says. “Funny.” Something scrapes in his throat.

“Goodnight,” Thom says, and he smiles a little, turning to leave.

“Wait,” Alex says. “Thom, can I. Can--” He doesn’t know how to finish the sentence.

Thom shakes his head. “I have to think,” he says. “And I’m much too weary at the moment.”

_I can’t sleep at all without you,_ Alex thinks, and _just let me help you get back to your room_ but he nods, because he doesn’t think he can push Thom further right now. He has a little hope, though, because Thom isn’t telling him no. “I’m sorry,” he says. “Thom, I’m really sorry. I swear.”

“I’m starting to see that,” Thom says, and he touches Alex’s hand before turning to leave again. “We’ll talk,” he says.

That parting line carries Alex through the rest of the night, through two more days of incessant training because _what else is he going to do_ , still avoiding Roger as best he can. Not that Roger is seeking him out, but Alex is certain that it wouldn’t take more than a minute for Roger to see what he’s feeling if they did talk. 

On the third day, Alanna finds him in the training grounds.

“You’re training hard,” she says noncommittally. 

“There’s not much else to do,” he says. 

“Ah, but Beltane is coming up tomorrow, shouldn’t you be courting yourself a lady?” she says, grinning and slipping over the fence.

That grin on her face, and those eyes--Alex shakes his head to clear it. “If they won’t have me, then I’m out of luck, don’t you think?” he says. “Might as well train, then.”

“Want company? I could use the distraction.” She picks up a training sword.

“Things on your mind?” he says.

“Stubborn brothers,” she replies, not elaborating, instead bringing her sword up to a guard stance.

Alex wants to ask, he wants to so badly, but restrains himself. Better that they have this out, burn off their tension. 

“Think you can take me?” They’re circling each other, waiting to see who makes the first move.

“I have no idea,” Alanna says. “But I think I owe you a rematch.” 

Alex freezes. “Alan--Alanna,” he says. It’s getting easier to say these things, though it seems all he does these days is apologize to the Trebond siblings. “I really am very sorry about last time.”

She looks at him, surprised. “Oh, I know that,” she says, waving away the broken collarbone like it was nothing. “I meant from our last time here, before the coronation, when I made you fall twenty-seven times instead of giving you a weapon you knew how to use.”

Oh. Right. Alex grins a little sheepishly. “Well then,” he says. “Let’s see how you do with a weapon we both know how to use.”

And then they’re at it, both so fast that if they were any less good, this would be a very dangerous duel. As it is, when they break apart laughing after a while, Alex’s shoulder is smarting from where she smacked him, and his ribs are aching. Alanna is favoring her right leg and grinning brightly. 

“You’ve gotten very good,” he says. “I’m impressed.”

“You too,” she says. “Again?”

“I’m all yours, lady knight,” he says, curving the fingers of his right hand in a come-at-me gesture. She takes him up on the invite, and they’re back into it, moving faster and faster until they’re at what Alex gauges is his best, or near-enough, and he can’t stop to breathe, doesn’t want to, and it’s the first time in weeks where he didn’t have enough mental space to think, and it’s _so good._

It ends, eventually, though neither of them actually win.

“I yield,” Alanna says, laughing, when they’ve backed away from each other to draw a breath for the fifth time in as many minutes.

“I was about to say the same,” he says, because he was. “You’re the best I’ve ever faced,” he adds, and she grins at that. 

“Ah, flattery,” she says. “But you too, Alex. You’ve gone from impressive to incredible.”

He shrugs. “I’ve had a lot of time to train,” he says, and something of the bleakness of the last year creeps into his voice. She flinches. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, and it’s an apology Alex can’t bear.

“Don’t apologize, please. I’d rather--want to do this again?”

“Well, not _now_ ,” she says, and he has to laugh at that. 

“No, no, you could knock me over with a feather,” he says. “Or less than that. Bring a fluffy kitten onto the field and it could beat me with both front paws tied behind its back. But tomorrow.”

“I’d like that,” she says. 

“Thank Mithros!” someone calls out, and they both turn to--well, apparently they had an audience. The speaker is Raoul, who grins and says, “Better you do this to each other than to us.”

“Watch it or I’ll get the Shang Dragon down here to beat some sense into you,” Alanna warns.

“Anything but that,” Raoul says. “Anything but that, Alanna, what do you need, a new horse? A kingdom? I’ll get you a kingdom of your own!”

“I’m fairly sure she doesn’t want a kingdom,” Alex says drily. Alanna winces a little. “Don’t you want to, I don’t know, go on more adventures and rescue foreign royalty and bring home jewels, right?” Alex says, and he knows it’s a clumsy save but he honestly didn’t mean to make it sound like he was talking about Jonathan. 

“Please bring me a princess next time,” Geoffrey says earnestly, earning him a push from Alanna.

“Thayet brought herself,” she says sternly. “And she could outshoot you one-handed, so you’d best never say anything like that to her.”

Laughing, Geoffrey holds up his hands. “I won’t, I promise I won’t!”

“Good,” Alanna says, then turns to Alex. “Same time tomorrow?” She waits for his nod before starting to head back towards the castle. 

Alex closes his eyes for a second, then heads after her. He has to know. “Alanna, wait.” When he catches up to her she’s been joined by that black cat Roger hated (it was a mutual hatred, Alex remembers), who peers at him curiously. 

“What is it, Alex?” she says.

“I was wondering how Thom is doing,” he says. It’s hard to ask.

“He’s doing research for Jon,” she says, which isn’t an answer to his question at all. The cat bats at her knee. “Oh, for--Faithful, don’t do that. He’s sick, Alex, and I’m a little worried, but I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

That doesn’t tell Alex anything. “Have, has anyone figured out what it is yet?”

“No,” Alanna says slowly, looking down at her cat and then at him. “No, but Thom has theories. Why? I didn’t know you were friendly.”

“We were, but we had a bit of a falling-out,” Alex says, trying to sound as matter-of-fact as possible about it. “But I talked to him last night and he looked sick.” He swallows. “I was worried.”

“Yes, he does look a fright, doesn’t he?” Alanna says, smiling at him. “It’s good to know someone else is concerned about him.”

Worry won’t do Thom much good. “Could you,” he pauses. “Perhaps, if you could not tell him I asked?”

“Why not?” Alanna says, looking at her cat again.

“He wouldn’t react well, I don’t think.”

“Thom never reacts well to what he calls coddling, it’s true,” Alanna says. “But it really is good to hear that he has a friend.”

Faithful walks away from her then and butts his head against Alex’s knee, which almost makes Alex fall over in surprise. “Hey,” he says. “Hey, kitty.” He holds out a hand for him to smell. 

“You like cats?” Alanna asks, sounding like she’s asking an entirely different question. 

“Roger used to say I was like a cat,” Alex says without thinking, stroking Faithful’s head. “I mean. Sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize for talking about him,” Alanna says, and she sounds like she means it. “You were his squire.”

_And quite a bit more_ , Alex thinks. “Yes, but.” He can’t actually say anything real here, but maybe he can let Alanna know, a little bit. “I missed you all a lot,” he settles on.

“We missed you too,” Alanna says, and looks up. “He’s up on the wall, just so you know.”

Alex flinches, he can’t help it, and Faithful squirms a little closer to him.

“Should we have a loud and public fight?” Alanna says, voice low. 

“Not if you want the daily training to be plausible,” Alex says, and oh, it’s a relief to be able to speak plainly to someone. 

“Well, I’m not prepared to forego that. You’d better go with flirting your way into my good graces or something, I’m sure Roger would be ready to believe that.”

Alex can’t quite decide whether Roger would believe that or not, but it’s possibly worth a try. “I’ll think of something,” he says.

“Let me know what you decide on,” Alanna says. “Come on, Faithful, I need to go change, I have meetings.” She rolls her eyes at Alex, who laughs, involuntarily. He has a fair idea what the Lioness thinks of meetings.

\--

Roger is waiting in his rooms when he gets back to them. “Did you switch Trebond siblings, then? I saw you with that strumpet and her infernal cat.”

“Yes,” Alex says, turning away from Roger to pull off his shirt and wipe off the sweat, even though it sits very ill with him to not keep Roger in his line of sight. But he’s getting better at lying with his body as well as with his face.

“What?” Roger says.

“I had a fight with Thom, so I switched Trebond siblings. You wanted me in a position to acquire as much information as possible from them. I made an appointment to train with Alanna again tomorrow.” It’s even mostly true: he did have a fight with Thom, and he does want more information about Thom’s health from Alanna. He just won’t give it to Roger, after.

He wishes Myles could just arrest them all. But there’s no proof, Alex doesn’t know enough to give Myles every conspirator and Thom isn’t well enough to prevent whatever Roger is planning and Myles says Jon wants the whole thing to play out as planned so they can be sure they’ve caught everyone. Alex breathes, closing his eyes. 

Abruptly, Roger is very close, one hand slowly stroking along Alex’s shoulder. Alex’s skin crawls with the touch, which should be surprising but isn’t, somehow. “She won’t be able to satisfy you, you know,” Roger says, voice low.

“I’m hardly in the pursuit of that kind of satisfaction,” Alex says, because that’s another truth.

“No, you haven’t had that in a while, have you?” Roger says. He sounds amused, like the thought of Alex pining for him is funny. 

“I find it’s less important, these days,” Alex says, instead of pointing out that it hasn’t really been all that long since Thom. He suspects Roger doesn’t think Thom can provide that kind of satisfaction, anyway. 

“Really?” Roger murmurs, and that’s his mouth on Alex’s neck. Alex shudders, and Roger laughs into his skin. “You did always react so beautifully.”

Alex closes his eyes. “My lord,” he says, careful. “Let us--let’s wait until after, when it’s all done. I’d like to stay focused.”

“You’re turning me down?” Roger sounds amused and sharp, all at once. “This is new.”

“Never that,” Alex says, and makes himself turn, makes himself smile at Roger and touch his face. “But if I am to fight the Lioness for you,” because why else would Roger keep an unGifted swordsman around? “then I need all my strength and all my focus, and you were always distracting. In the best of ways, of course, but we can’t afford it now.”

It’s dangerous to tell Roger he’s figured out that much about his plans. Very dangerous. But Alex thinks he can get away with it, because telling Roger he’s going to do what Roger wants him to was always something Roger liked.

“True enough, squire,” Roger says, leaning in to kiss him and then backing away. “Until afterward, then.” He’s smiling a little oddly, as if at some private joke, but Alex is almost certain Roger believed him. 

“Until then,” he says, and stays looking at Roger until he walks out, at which point Alex very carefully doesn’t break anything in his rooms, puts on another shirt and walks out. He tries so very hard not to, but he still ends up at Thom’s door.

_Please say Roger didn’t come here_ , he thinks, and knocks. 

Thom opens, face shuttering when he sees Alex.

“Please can I come in?” Alex says before Thom has time to start on their fight again. “Thom, _please_.” Something of his desperation must make it through because Thom nods, stepping aside. When the door closes behind him Alex lets out a breath, feeling like it’s his first clear one in hours. “Roger isn’t here, is he?”

“No,” Thom says. “No, he was here earlier about some research, but he’s left. Why?”

“I just,” Alex says helplessly. “I just had to see you.” 

Thom grimaces. “I’m not much to see.” It’s true that he’s become even more thin and frail-looking, the illness visibly taking its toll, but Alex shakes his head.

“You are,” he manages. And then, “I’ve missed you.”

Thom’s eyes soften, just a little. He shakes his head. “I would have thought--” he hesitates.

“What?” Alex says.

“I would have thought your duke could fill the void,” Thom says, mouth twisting.

“He’s not my duke,” Alex says, wishing there was a way to convince Thom of the absolute truth of those words. “He’s not my anything. I shouldn’t even be here, I should be--” _pretending_ , “but I had to. I missed you.” He falls silent. 

Thom just looks at him. Alex wishes he would say something. He really shouldn’t have come here. “I could go again,” he offers, straightening, rubbing his hands along his thighs. “You don’t have to let me stay.”

“Alex,” Thom says, and his voice is absurdly gentle. “Alex, come here.”

Alex goes. He’s pretty much figured out that if Thom asks, he can’t say no. Which isn’t good, it’s what got him here in the first place, agreeing to things he didn’t fully understand, but at the same time, Thom is letting him him stay. Thom is letting him stay and Alex is almost sure that Thom would never ask the kinds of things of him that Roger did.

So Alex goes, and he folds into the arm that Thom holds out, burying his face in Thom’s neck. “Sorry,” he whispers. 

“For what?” Thom asks, voice soft.

_Everything_. “Just, I’m sorry.”

“Shhh,” Thom says, fingers combing slowly through Alex’s hair. “Shh, it’s alright.”

_It’s not_ , Alex thinks. _It’s really really not._ But he stays and he breathes and he lets Thom touch him because this, here, is the most safe he’s felt in days. 

He doesn’t stay for long. Thom says he can if he wants, in this low voice that makes Alex ache, but he can’t. “I should maintain some sort of. I don’t know,” he tells Thom, straightening and moving away. He knows, though, that he won’t be able to stay away for long, even though it would keep Thom safer. _Selfish._

“I worry about you when you’re not here,” Thom says. 

Alex shakes his head, because what. “I’m not the one who’s sick,” he says, biting down the sharpness that wants to rise in his voice. 

“No, but if Roger has his Gift, you’re--” Thom shakes his head. “I worry.”

“You just focus on getting better,” Alex says. “You don’t need to, don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.” He smiles at Thom, tries to make it as bright as it usually is.

“Alex,” Thom says helplessly, reaching out again and touching his face. 

“I have to go,” Alex says. Whispers, really. 

“Come back tomorrow night,” Thom says, and Alex should say no, but he can’t, really. 

“Beltane,” he says instead.

“Yes,” Thom says. “Tradition, you know.” He’s smiling, a little.

“Right,” he says, and doesn’t ask if this means Thom has forgiven him, if this means any of the things that Alex wants it to mean. 

\--

All day, people are getting ready. Everyone goes about their business as usual, but there are a lot of smiles and people wearing festive clothing, and the staff of the castle had managed to decorate doorways and rooms with the traditional yellow flowers practically overnight. 

When night falls, he leaves his rooms by way of one of the more out-of-the-way passages, the one that lets him go to Thom’s rooms without passing any of the major hallways. He almost fails to muster up the courage to knock, but Thom did tell him to come back, and the fires are burning outside, and Alex wants so badly that he doesn’t have the words for it. 

Thom opens, and he smiles when he sees Alex. “Come in,” he says.

Alex nods, everything he doesn’t know how to say scraping about in his throat. 

Thom’s fire is out. Alex looks at him. Thom lets out a breath and kisses him then, draws him close and kisses him, and he’s thin, too thin, and Alex doesn’t know how to hold him now that he’s this fragile, but he kisses him back, closing his eyes and drowning in it.

He blinks and then Thom is holding him against the wall, hands curved around his hips. 

“Stay there,” he says against Alex’s mouth, and then he’s on his knees, unlacing Alex’s breeches and Alex nearly falls over, because this isn’t, Alex can’t cope with the way Thom looks up at him through his lashes, the way he’s smiling like he wants to be there, wants to be on his knees in front of Alex. 

“You don’t have to,” he says, trying to pull Thom up. He remembers being pushed to his knees, remembers having trouble keeping his balance and the way his neck would hurt.

“It’s not exactly a hardship,” Thom says, scraping his teeth over Alex’s hip. “Promise.”

It’s a little hard to breathe. 

Thom smirks, and then his mouth-- 

Alex makes a noise that he hardly recognizes and his knees nearly buckle again, but Thom has him, Thom is holding him up somehow and Alex doesn’t know how he’s doing it when he’s so weak.

“Thom,” he says, trying to pull him off, but Thom closes his eyes and swallows around him and then pulls off, helping Alex to the ground.

“You,” he says, kissing Thom between words and trying not to knock them both onto the floor. 

Thom laughs into his mouth and makes an interested noise when Alex gets a hand in between them. “Bed,” he says, then, more insistently when Alex starts unlacing his breeches, “bed, Alex.” 

“Fine,” Alex says and drags them both up and then down again, tumbling Thom into the sheets.

Thom starts to say something but Alex kisses him quiet, because this might be the only time. Thom might get worse or remember that he’s only sick because of Alex or Roger might succeed; this might be the only time that Alex gets to have Thom like this before it all ends. 

_I missed you_ he thinks, but he doesn’t say it. _I missed you so much._

Behind them, the fire flickers to life and Alex tries to memorize Thom by touch and sight, the curve of his spine and the red of his lips, the way his knees bend and his hips, his skin, soft under Alex’s hands. Alex thinks of his last Beltane, drinking steadily, alone in his rooms, the ghost of Roger’s touch, the unlit fire, and the one before that, when Alex showed up at Roger’s door because he knew that’s where he wanted to be, and Roger laughed but let him in, and they spent hours together, Alex dazed under Roger’s hands. Roger called him wanton, then, grinning and turning him over onto his stomach (again). Thom doesn’t call him anything, but touches his face, his shoulders, shudders when Alex moves his mouth lower and threads his fingers through Alex’s hair, gently. 

Alex makes a noise and pulls off. “You can pull,” he says, voice more than a little hoarse. “I don’t mind.” Thom couldn’t hold him down if he tried, especially not now, except for with sorcery, and he wouldn’t do that.

“I want you to do whatever you want,” Thom says softly. “I like it when you--that.”

Alex’s closes his eyes because they’re burning, just a little bit, and goes down again, hands curving over Thom’s hips. Just touching, not holding him there. _Hold me down_ , he thinks. _Keep me here_. But Thom can’t read Alex’s thoughts, he made sure of that, so Thom’s fingers continue their gentle threading through Alex’s hair until he swears, hips moving up, up, and Alex takes it. 

They don’t really say anything after. Thom doesn’t ask him to stay again and Alex doesn’t say anything about getting better, but he waits until Thom falls asleep before he leaves and kisses Thom’s forehead, thinking _safe safe stay safe_ as hard as he can.

\--

He doesn’t go back to Thom’s rooms after that, even though Thom calls him a coward for it, a sharp word in his ear in one of his vanishingly rare appearances at court. But Alex can’t, has to just take Thom’s anger and be done with it. They’re too near to the coronation and Roger is hovering too much, asking Alex to do any number of things at odd hours, never explaining why. Alex knows he’s spending a lot of time in Thom’s rooms as well. Alex does them, but reminds Roger that he’s under suspicion.

Roger smiles. “Why do you think I’m withholding the explanations, squire? All will become clear in time.”

They’re interrupted then by a page who tells Alex that Sir Myles of Olau requests his presence. Alex doesn’t have to feign his unease, but tells the page he will be right along.

“Don’t be concerned,” Roger murmurs. “You will be safe.”

“I trust that you have everything well in hand,” Alex says, smiling, and goes.

He doesn’t have anything to tell Myles that Myles doesn’t already know, but Myles keeps him for an hour anyway, discussing an obscure work of philosophy Alex thought he’d forgotten. Myles also makes him eat, doesn’t let him leave until he finishes the meal Myles had brought to his chambers for them. Finally, he tells Alex he can go.

“Now, I think you’re late for your daily sparring with my daughter,” he says, eyes twinkling a little.

“How do you know about that?” Alex says.

Myles gives him a look that says _please, I’m Jonathan’s Spymaster_ and _I do keep an eye on my daughter_ at the same time. 

“Fair enough,” Alex murmurs. 

Alanna doesn’t give him an easy time of it, fencing with a fury Alex hasn’t seen in a long time. It’s a relief to be able to let go, the way he never can against any of his other sparring partners. 

“Thank you,” she says after they end it, both drenched in sweat and breathing hard.

“Likewise,” Alex says. “Is there anything in particular that caused you to chase me around like I’m that monkey god you faced in the mountains?”

“Thom’s old tutor is here,” Alanna says. “Because, you know.” _His illness_ , says her look. “But he refuses to see him.”

Alex drops his practice sword, fumbling to pick it back up. Si-Cham was supposed to _help_. “He’s refusing to see him, is he, is he _stupid_?” he blurts, without even thinking about it.

“No, just stubborn,” Alanna says. “And he doesn’t trust the Mithrans, says they were all jealous of him.” She bites her lip. “I’m about one more day away from forcibly marching him over to see Si-Cham.”

“He’s more stubborn than you,” Alex says bleakly. “He’d stop you.”

“He couldn’t right now,” Alanna says, barely moving her lips and speaking so quietly Alex thinks he heard her wrong at first.

“He--it’s that bad,” he finally says, closing his eyes.

“Yes,” she says. “And if I find out you’ve told anyone--”

“I wouldn’t,” he says immediately, because he can be honest about that, and he must be, to Alanna. 

“Good,” she says, and she grins at him, and it’s Alan’s smile, the one he wore when he was tired but determined to push on through. “Will you come help?”

Alex shakes his head a little. “He won’t talk to me, I made him angry.” 

Alanna studies him, then apparently decides. “You should come see him with me now,” she says, takes him by the arm, and drags him inside. Alex gives in. He’s very bad at saying no to the Trebond siblings. 

Thom refuses to open the door. Alanna frowns, putting one hand against it and _pushing_ in this way that Alex doesn’t think only has to do with physical strength.

Looking up when they walk in, Thom sneers. “I didn’t think you’d lend yourself to this,” he says to Alex and turns his back on them both, turning another page in the book he is holding.

“I thought you wanted to get better,” Alex says, and flinches when Thom turns to him, angry.

“Then why are you keeping me from my research?” he says.

Alanna clears her throat. “Si-Cham is here to help,” she says pointedly. “With your research. Your illness.”

“Si-Cham is here to get what information he can out of me,” Thom says. “Before I succumb to whatever-this-is. They always said I needed to be more helpful, more open with what I’d discovered; well, they have their chance, now. Or they will if I give it to them.”

“He’s not here to--he’s here to _help_ ,” Alanna repeats, obviously frustrated. 

“I don’t need it,” Thom says, looking back down at the page. “It’s a magic-related illness, you cured Jonathan of the Sweating Sickness when you were a mere untrained page.”

Alanna looks furious. “That’s a secret,” she snaps at Thom. 

Thom shrugs. “Everyone knows it already, Alanna. And anyway, you seem to be telling my secrets.”

“Alex knew you were sick already,” Alanna says. “He asked how you were doing. I didn’t think you’d mind me bringing a friend.”

Thom laughs, a sharp, short sound. “Oh, we’re not _friends_ ,” he says. Alex clenches his teeth. Alanna looks between them, confused. 

Abruptly Alex knows what to say. He does know Thom, a little, and he can’t stand here and watch him refuse to make himself better. 

“No,” he tells Thom softly. “We were never friends. You’re right about that. But if you are too proud to take the help you are offered, if you are too proud to trust anyone but yourself, then you are no better than the man you called a hack.” He walks out then, because he can’t actually look at Thom right now. Or Alanna. He remembers the Sweating Sickness as a steady blur, a constant terrifying drain of energy and the absolute certainty that it would never ever end. He remembers getting better, only to find out that Jon was almost certainly going to die. The terror of that had catapulted him right back into illness, which only ended when one of the attending Healers let him go see Jon, after Sir Myles of Olau had apparently saved his life. And Alex remembers when Roger told him it hadn’t been Sir Myles after all, the strange sensation as Alex realized Alan wasn’t just good with a sword. 

Alanna had accused Roger of creating the Sweating Sickness when she challenged him publicly. Alex wonders if that had been the truth. He thinks it might have been. He swears, low, and walks back downstairs and outside. Geoffrey is there and doesn’t protest when Alex tosses him a sword, only asks him rather plaintively to go easy on him.

“If you’d move faster I wouldn’t have to go easy on you,” Alex says.

Geoffrey snorts. “The Lioness is the only one fast enough to keep up with you, you know that. You’ll have to take what you can get from me.”

“I will,” Alex says, and it occurs to him that he probably doesn’t sound entirely normal right now. But Geoffrey’s used to his moods, or doesn’t care, and he lets Alex tire himself out until the bells are rung for supper.

\--


	6. Chapter 6

\--

When Alex is called to see Myles that night, Jon is there. Seated in front of the fire, dressed in nondescript clothing, he clearly made every effort to come here unseen. Alex wonders if it was enough.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Myles says, and though Alex wants to ask him to stay, he doesn’t. Jon beckons at him to sit, but he stays standing. If he’s going to face the king-to-be--if he’s going to face his _friend_ \--and be called out for treason, he’d prefer to stand up.

Jon nods. “I asked Myles if I could see you,” he says.

Alex doesn’t say anything. Part of him has been waiting for this moment, though he thought it was going to prefaced with a patrol of guards dragging him in front of Jon to answer for his crimes, and it’s strange that it’s happening in Myles’ sitting room, in front of a fire. His hands are clasped behind his back, knuckles tight.

“I wanted to apologize,” Jon says, which makes no sense at all. Alex knows he must be looking bewildered. “It took me a very long time, far too long, to figure out what my uncle was. And so you were left to,” Jon swallows, “to be turned into his creature, with no help. I must apologize, Alex. It was badly done of all of us.”

Alex doesn’t. He can’t. 

“I ought to have come to you, too, after the duel, when he died. You were my friend, and I just. I’m sorry.”

Alex shakes his head, and at long last, manages to get out, “I am responsible for my choices. My crimes. Sire. And I’ll answer for them to you.” It feels like the ground is trembling below him, but he thinks it is probably just his legs.

Jon runs a hand over his eyes, and then he shifts his stance slightly, as if he’s putting on royalty like a cloak. He used to do that, in page training, but only very rarely, and it didn’t change him that much. It’s far more imposing now.

“Alex,” he says. “Whatever crimes you committed under Roger’s influence, you have repaid the kingdom in full in the past weeks. And as the king of Tortall, I will pardon you. Because you were not at fault, and because we failed you so utterly. That is my right, and that is my will.”

“No,” Alex blurts. “No, you can’t, I. They were going to kill you, and I--“ he breaks off, because Jon is smiling.

“Myles informs me you knew they were going to fail,” he says gently.

“It was a stupid plan,” Alex says automatically.

“In fact, you’ve not contributed meaningfully to the conspiracy in quite some time,” Jon says. 

“But I joined it,” Alex argues, and falls silent, because Jon shakes his head.

“Alex, I--“ he takes a breath, visibly measuring his next words. “Roger hurt many of us quite badly,” he says. “Thom of Trebond would have died if not for you, for example. But I’m certain he hurt no one quite so badly or in quite so despicable a manner as the way he hurt you.”

Alex can feel himself shaking. It's very hard to breathe.

Jon is looking up at him. “Alex,” he says again. “I have no right to ask this of you, I have no right to ask anything of you after what you have borne on your own, but will you help me stop him? For Tortall?”

Before he knows it, Alex is nodding and then he finds himself kneeling in front of Jon, and his face is wet--how odd--and his hands are between Jon’s. Alex knows these words so well (he last spoke them to Roger) but somehow they are so easy to say this time, so easy.

“Thank you,” Jon says, after. His eyes are wet as well. “I would not have wanted to do this without you.”

“Be king?” Alex says. “You have knights aplenty, Sire." He feels light, somehow.

“I need you,” Jon says firmly. “I always did. And I’m so glad to have you, Alex, thank you.”

Myles comes in then, before Alex has to answer, and Alex is grateful for it. He doesn’t quite have himself back together, and Myles and Jon must both notice, because they spend some time talking about various coronation-related matters that have nothing to do with Alex for a few minutes before including him in the conversation. 

“Don’t ask me to have an opinion about the flower arrangements,” he quips, and Jon smirks. 

“But you always did have the most style out of all of us,” he says.

“Only because the rest of you had none," he says, and it's so easy to joke, to smile. Alex feels quite untethered, like he might lift from the ground at any moment.

Myles laughs at them both.“If we could speak of more urgent matters for a minute,” he says, and they both turn their attention to him.  
\--

Alex is possibly the only person in the castle without a job heading into the coronation. Officially, that is. Unofficially, he has to keep Roger happy and keep telling Myles about what Roger tells him (not much, now that Alex is being brought away for hearings openly at least once per day), and he has to keep his co-conspirators from killing one another in a bid for a place as Roger’s favorite. 

It’s a bad week, but it is made somewhat easier by the knowledge that he’s not in this fight alone, that he is trusted. 

He does get to see Alanna once every day, and she tells him that Thom is now working with Si-Cham and possibly doing better. She herself looks a bit pale, and Alex isn’t sure if this is because she is worried about her brother, tired of dealing with her part in the coronation circus, or something else. He’s a little surprised to find out that he’d like to help if he could.

But he doesn’t ask, just hands her a practice sword and they proceed to have the kind of practice that quickly makes people gather round and watch, every day. It’s a relief to be able to let go, to fight as hard as you can for the joy of it, because Alanna will never fall for an easy feint or step into the way of a stroke that should never have touched her. It’s almost like a dance, Alex thinks, rolling to avoid her quick slash.

“Thank you,” she says when they’re done, both shaking with the exertion and sweating through their clothes. “I needed that.”

“Me too,” Alex says, smiling up at her from the ground where she landed him with a final swipe of her legs. 

“Same time tomorrow?” she says, and he nods.

“It’ll be nice to have something to do before the coronation,” he says. “I don’t really, you know.”

“Consider yourself fortunate,” she says, and mutters something that sounds like “fittings”.

“Ah, shalt thou be wearing fancy clothes, o champion of the land,” he says, rising from the ground and bowing with a flourish. 

“I have a script, even,” Alanna says ruefully. 

Alex knows this, because he made fun of Jon for it, but he’s not supposed to know. “Wait, really? That seems unnecessarily formal.”

Alanna nods. “And I’m so tempted to say something entirely different, just to see what Jon will do, you know?”

“You should,” Alex says. “As solemnly and as seriously as you can.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Alanna says, grinning. 

“But it would make it all ever so much more interesting to watch for the rest of us,” Alex says persuasively. “Consider your audience, lady knight, and take pity on their poor ceremony-watching souls.”

Alanna laughs, and she sounds so much like Alan, which shouldn’t be surprising but still is. “There you are,” she says, and, “I missed you.”

“I’ve been here,” Alex says, but he knows what she means.

“After a fashion,” she says, touching his shoulder. “It’s good to see you.”

He nods at her, smiling. “Same time tomorrow?”

“Of course,” she says.

\--

The morning of the coronation comes too soon, even though Alex has been chafing at the waiting for days. He doesn’t sleep at all the night before, thinking of Jonathan and his champion holding their vigil in the chapel, of Jon going into the chamber again (he doesn’t pray at that thought, Alex never prays, but he wishes as fervently as he can that Jon will come through it whole), of Thom who still is not well and may not be able to attend, of Roger and the plans Alex still can’t see the whole shape of. He is glad not to know the whole of it, that Jon kept something back, in case Roger figured out what he was up to. He was told to ready himself, and he will, soon. But he won’t be attending the coronation.

He goes to Roger’s room a little after first light, and kneels in front of him when Roger gestures for it. It feels utterly wrong to do so now, but he manages to smile through it.

“Be my champion today,” Roger says, touching his face. 

“Against the Lioness?” Alex asks. 

“Against the Lioness,” Roger confirms. “You’ll have had ample time to learn her weaknesses by now, after all that practising.” His voice goes decidedly nasty at that, but Alex doesn’t flinch.

“True,” he says. “I know what I will use.” If he was actually fighting Alanna, he’d take care to make her worried about those she loves, first, and he’s worried Roger has figured that much out. “Will you tell me the rest of your plans now, my Lord?”

“Your Lord?” Roger says.

Alex bends his head. “My King,” he says, and that is treason, but he made his vows to Jon and so it is not, really.

“And no, I will not tell you,” Roger says. Alex bites the inside of his cheek at that. “Rest assured that it will shake the very foundations of this kingdom, and that nothing will be the same once it’s over.”

“A new world?” Alex says, making his voice warm.

“More than that,” Roger says, touching his chin and tilting his face up. “More than that, and you shall be rewarded for your faith in me.”

“I don’t need a reward,” Alex says automatically. “Only--” he makes his body lie, for him, lets himself look at Roger like he used to. 

“I know what you need,” Roger says, smiling. “You will have it, starting with a chance to really fight the Champion. And you shall be rid of her infernal brother, too; he is integral to my plans but will not live to see them fulfilled, I’m afraid.”

“What a shame,” Alex says, and is so thankful for Thom’s wall, and for Roger’s own lessons in keeping his emotions off his face, because if Roger could read his mind right now he would hear nothing but screaming. “I shall mourn, I’m sure. But isn’t it nearly time?” He must get to Thom, he _must_.

“Yes, I believe it is,” Roger says, drawing Alex to his feet. “A kiss, for luck,” he says, leaning in. Alex kisses him back with all the desperation he feels and Roger has something of regret in his eyes when they part. Alex can’t begin to dwell on that; he bows again and leaves the room, running as soon as he’s reasonably sure it is safe to do so. He knows the passages of the palace so well by now, it hardly takes him any time at all to arrive at Thom’s rooms. 

He’s almost there when the earthquake hits. _Shake the foundations of the kingdom_ , it seems Roger meant that literally, and there are sounds of a struggle coming from Thom’s room. Alex swears throwing himself forward and in, sword out before he can even think about it.

It’s Josiane, brandishing an axe at Thom, who is paler than ever, cowering before her. Si-Cham is on the floor, holding a bleeding arm.

“Josiane,” Alex says chidingly, trying to signal to Thom with his eyes that he is about to lie. “Josiane, what is this?”

“Surely you know,” she says, half-turning towards him, which lets Thom back up another two paces. Alex thanks all the gods he can think of that this female, at least, has received no martial training. Even if he also wishes Thom had. Alex will rectify that, after. If. 

“Mm-hm,” Alex says, humming noncomittally. “It’s a little early, surely?” He’s moving closer to her, careful not to come within her reach just yet. 

“Roger said to go and do it now,” she says. “And then I will be queen--”

“I thought he meant that for Delia,” Alex says carelessly, eyes on her face still. She’s inexperienced enough that she will telegraph any hit she attempts.

“Delia,” Josiane snarls. “Not even a royal.”

“But not crazy,” Thom mutters. Alex curses inwardly when that makes Josiane snarl, whirling at him and raising her axe. Alex has to act, he has to move immediately, and he does, arm sliding up and forward, sliding through her just below her ribs. It’s not clean, he doesn’t get as close as he wants to, which is why she manages to chop her axe down, hitting his thigh as she falls. 

She collapses, then, and Alex is relieved because Thom is safe, Thom doesn’t have a mark on him. It’s awfully difficult to stand all of a sudden though, and Alex has time to wonder why he’s swooning like a maiden before he folds down and Thom has him, hand pressing against his side hard despite how he looks weak as a kitten.

“That hurts,” he informs Thom.

“That’s because you’re bleeding,” Thom says, and his voice is soft. “I wish I could heal you, but--”

“Thom!” Alanna gasps, bursting through the door. “Thank the Goddess, you’re still well.”

“Alex isn’t,” Thom says. “And Si-Cham is hurt. Also, we know what the Duke is up to.”

They do? “You do?” Alex asks faintly, tugging on Thom’s sleeve.

“Gates of Idramm,” Si-Cham says shortly, working his way into a seated position. Alanna helps him tie off the wound in his arm. 

“You want me to heal--” she starts, but Si-Cham shakes his head. 

“No magic,” he says. “We figured it out only just before the coronation began, and only had time to fashion the most rudimentary of defenses. Roger does not have either of our Gifts, as he meant to, fastening a leeching spell on the sorcerer who resurrected him, but he came very close. And now we cannot use our Gifts, except, well. There is one thing we can do. Jonathan is holding it all together using the Jewel, correct?”

“Yes,” Alanna says, grimacing. “I don’t know how long he can.”

“I can aid him, if you give me permission to use your magic,” Si-Cham says. “Your Gift is uncorrupted, and he will have use of it and then it will return.”

“Take it,” Alanna says immediately, and then something happens that Alex cannot see, but Thom shudders a little, his grip going momentarily weaker.

Alanna shakes her head when she rises, looking shaky. “I hope that helps,” she says.

“It will,” Si-Cham promises. 

“Go,” Thom says, when Alanna looks like she doesn’t want to leave. “Someone must stop the Duke of Conte for good. I’m just sorry you have to do it again.”

“Don’t apologize, idiot,” she says. “Just stay safe.”

“Hey, Trebond,” Alex manages, just as Alanna is about to exit. She turns, looking at him. “Make sure he stays dead this time.”

“I promise,” she says. “I promise, Alex. As long as you promise to keep sparring with me.”

“Of course,” he says. “Someone has to keep you on your toes.”

Everything goes very blurry after Alanna leaves. Soft and blurry and muddled. Alex can’t keep his eyes open, really, and it hurts to breathe, it hurts so much, and the earth is shaking and he’s. Just. 

“I’m glad I got to see you again,” he says at one point, and Thom tells him to be quiet in this voice he doesn’t recognize, shaking and weird and his hands are so gentle as he’s holding Alex together. 

Eventually he gives in to the creeping darkness, because it’s too tiring to stay awake, and the earth is trembling under them, around them, and Alex just can’t. 

“Sorry,” he whispers, he still has so much to apologize for, but Thom just shakes his head at him.

“No,” he says, but Alex can’t stay awake long enough to hear what he means by that.

\--

Alex wakes up. Slowly. Everything hurts. 

No, that’s wrong, his side hurts like someone tried to take an axe to it, which he supposes someone did, but the rest of him is very comfortably numb. 

“It’s like floating,” he says to Thom who--who’s sitting right next to him. Next to the bed he’s in. That’s strange. “Why are you here?” he asks, but shakes his head when Thom moves like he’s going to get up. “No, stay. Please.”

Thom sits back down. “How do you feel?” he says.

“As bad as you look,” Alex says, because Thom looks like he’s still burning off the excess of Roger’s ‘gift’. 

“Thanks,” Thom says, smile wry. 

“But I like that you’re alive,” Alex says, and decides privately he’s going to blame the honesty on the medicine someone must have given him. This numbness doesn’t come naturally.

“I like that you’re alive too,” Thom says, curling his fingers into Alex’s. “I’m, I’m glad.”

“Did she,” Alex swallows.

Thom nods. “He’s dead.” He looks a little odd at that, as if he’s afraid of Alex’s reaction, moving to withdraw his fingers. Alex makes a protesting noise. 

“Stay,” he says, because it’s getting hard to keep his eyes open again and he’s afraid he’ll forget where he is if no one is there when he wakes up.

Thom doesn’t say anything, but his hand stays in Alex’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be a coda/epilogue this weekend. There will also be more extensive Author's notes at some point, as this fic is the story of my heart in so many ways, and I'd like to talk about it some more. Thank you so much to everyone who followed along with this, it means the world.


	7. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex recovers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first of a set of epilogues. I have a lot of things I want to do with this universe still. And happy birthday Emily, for whom my writer's block will always end when it needs to.

The infirmary is dull. Alex chafes at the restrictions, at not being allowed out of bed, enough so that when Thom comes by on the fourth day, he pleads with him to help him stand.

"You're to let the wound heal," Thom says. "Duke Baird was very clear."

"I don't care," Alex says. "I can feel my muscles atrophying as I lie here, I have to see how bad it is."

Thom finally consents to help him. (Thom is not very good at denying him anything at the moment, Alex has noticed, and though he doesn't understand it, he can't help but to take advantage.) Walking hurts worse than anything ever has, except maybe Josiane's initial strike, but Alex makes it across the room and back by leaning heavily on Thom. Who, Alex notes, is shaking.

"You're one to talk about letting yourself heal," he says, settling back into the bed while ignoring the burning in his leg. "You were ill, Roger made you--"

Thom shrugs. His eyes are soft. "I'm getting better," he says. "Si-cham's been helping me, and Alanna helped too, she gave me some of her magic."

"I didn't know you could do that," Alex says. 

"It's just for borrowing," Thom says. "Like a less harmful version of Roger's spell. Helps heal the, er. Space where my magic was."

Alex must look as blank as he feels, because Thom grins. "I'll explain it when you're feeling better. When you're less muddled."

"I'm not muddled," Alex protests, but he has to blink away dizziness and Thom is quick to brace him, help him lean further back.

"I'll be here when you wake up," he says, and Alex means to say he's not going to sleep, but the room's fading away.

\--

The next time he awakes, Thom is asleep in the chair next to the bed. In sleep, his face is relaxed and open, and something aches in Alex when he sees it. He just watches, waving away the offered lunch when it comes.

Thom wakes up after almost an hour, rubbing his eyes and yawning, wincing at the crack in his neck when he sits up.

"Shouldn't sleep in chairs," Alex says, and swallows at the crack in his own voice.

Thom smiles. "I've slept in worse places," he says, and visibly steeling himself, reaches for Alex's hand. "I like knowing you're there."

They haven't talked about this since the coronation. 

"I like," Alex says, but can't finish the sentence. "You're alive," he says instead, and he's just so grateful. "He was going to kill you, and I thought." His mouth is dry.

"Well, he was going to have my sister kill you," Thom says, and even after everything, it stings knowing that Thom is right, that Roger didn't believe in him even then.

"We may be even," Alex says.

"You don't owe me anything," Thom says. "Especially not for what Roger tried to do."

Alex disagrees there, but Thom is closer, suddenly, and it's a little hard to breathe. He kisses Alex softly, bent over the bed. Alex holds on when he tries to pull back, because he thought he'd never have this again.

"Why are you--" he mutters against Thom's mouth.

"Shh," Thom says, kissing him again, softly. "I'm not going anywhere."


	8. The aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end of the bar deserves a celebration. Love you, babe.

The conspiracy didn't die with Roger, but the other conspirators are rounded up in the aftermath. Alex doesn't pay much attention (he's mostly busy learning to walk again) but eventually it is brought to his attention that he's expected to testify in the trials.

"What, all of them?" he says, looking at the messenger. 

"You're needed," he says firmly, and Alex sighs. He's not very fond of that word. (Apart from when Thom says it, says "I need you," but those are very different circumstances.)

"I'm still recovering," he tries, but the messenger looks apologetic and not like he's about to leave before Alex agrees.

"Sir Miles asked me to brief you," he says. "There needs to be an official record, in addition to the information you've already given."

Gods. "No, thank you, that won't be necessary. I don't need to rehearse what to say. But I will testify."

The messenger bows. "You will be sent for," he says.

Alex sighs. Facing Delia will be the least of it. Or Claw. Josiane is dead; Alex killed her even as he nearly perished himself (will he have to tell the court about that?). Roger is very dead. Alanna's description was very satisfactory. Alex had felt very strange, listening. Relieved and not. Thom had been there with him, listening, squeezing Alex's shoulder at one point.

No, the problem is that he was a part of it for so long. How is he going to explain that? He's just as guilty as they are.

\--

Thom tells him he's an idiot, when he says that. Whispers it into Thom's hair, really, and the twack on his ear is very unexpected.

"Idiot," Thom says, tugging at Alex's hair to make him face him. "You--well, you saved my life, to begin with, and you were pardoned by the king beforehand--"

"I know," Alex interrupts him. "I know all that, but I helped. For so long." It's hard to get the words out.

"But you helped us at the end," Thom says softly. "You helped me. It's worth a lot." 

"Is it worth enough?" Alex says.

"It is to me, and to Jonathan," Thom says. "But I realize you're apt to hate yourself, this is nothing new." He kisses Alex softly, and there is no more spoken of guilt or absolution that night, though it keeps eating at Alex after. Thom will forgive him anything, he knows this, even if he doesn't understand it.

\--

The trial is difficult. Alex wears Tirragen colors, as much as he feels that he shouldn't, and he swears to tell the truth and doesn't flinch when he sees Jonathan there. And Thom. They know all of it already, why are they here?

They ask him why he didn't give the conspiracy away earlier, why he joined it in the first place. Alex can't look away from Thom when he has to put together an answer to that which isn't "I wanted the Duke my lover to come back to life." Thom grins ruefully, shaking his head.

Alex details as much as he can about the conspiracy, the questioning going on for hours. The King leaves and comes back, and so it is with his old friend in the audience that Alex has to answer the question of whether he can be trusted now.

"I will keep my oaths," he says, and only he and Jon know about the second time Alex swore fealty to his king, on his knees in Miles's study, his hands between Jon's. Alex hasn't even told Thom about that.

At the end of it all, they thank him for his time. Alex thinks - knows - Jon must have said something to them. Or Miles, maybe. If he were them he'd throw himself into the dungeons.

Miles shakes his head when Alex mentions it, later.

"You'll just have to work harder, won't you," he says, but his tone is dry like he doesn't mean it.

Thom tells him to take his freedom and be satisfied. "I worked hard to keep you free," he says. "You've repaid me in full and you've repaid Jonathan in full and my sister thinks you're being an idiot about it, and she's the one who had to kill Roger twice."

\--

Alanna finds him the next day and drags him into the practice grounds. 

"I'm glad, you know," she says when they're done, panting with exertion but still standing.

"Glad?" Alex says, not following. She'd been talking about sword thrusts a minute before that.

"That you're not rotting in a jail cell," she says, grinning.

Oh. "Even though I--you had to do it twice," Alex says.

"Well, now he's really dead," Alanna says. "But no, you're my friend, and there's precious little joy around sometimes, but the way you fight and the way you live and," she pauses, reaching out to tweak his nose, "the way you love, it would be a poorer Tortall without you. Roger nearly took you away from us, but I count it among the many good returns of his death that he didn't get to keep you."

"Oh," Alex says dumbly.

"Besides," Alanna adds, smiling impishly, "I'd hate for there to be any doubts about which of us is the better. This way I can beat you fair and square every week and everyone will know the truth."

Alex cracks up, feinting a lunge at her and making her jump back. "We'll see about that," he says, and it seems they both had a little energy left, after all, as he chases her around the practice grounds, both of them laughing. 

\--

"I give in," Alex tells Thom when he comes back to their rooms, hair still wet from the baths. Thom is lounging on the bed and looks up, smiling at Alex.

"You give in?" he says.

"Everyone seems to want me to live and be happy," Alex says. "Even your sister."

Thom's smile grows warmer. "Come here," he says, beckoning Alex closer. "I can help you with that."

He can.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic of] The Dark is Light Enough](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3320588) by [knight_tracer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/knight_tracer/pseuds/knight_tracer)




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